CHAPTER VI

　　The last two days of the voyage Bartley found almost intolerable. The stop at Queenstown, the tedious passage up the Mersey, were things that he noted dimly through his growing impatience. He had planned to stop in Liverpool; but, instead, he took the boat train for London.

　　Emerging at Euston at half-past three o'clock in the afternoon, Alexander had his luggage sent to the Savoy and drove at once to Bedford Square. When Marie met him at the door, even her strong sense of the proprieties could not restrain her surprise and delight. She blushed and smiled and fumbled his card in her confusion before she ran upstairs. Alexander paced up and down the hallway, buttoning and unbuttoning his overcoat, until she returned and took him up to Hilda's living-room. The room was empty when he entered. A coal fire was crackling in the grate and the lamps were lit, for it was already beginning to grow dark outside. Alexander did not sit down. He stood his ground over by the windows until Hilda came in. She called his name on the threshold, but in her swift flight across the room she felt a change in him and caught herself up so deftly that he could not tell just when she did it. She merely brushed his cheek with her lips and put a hand lightly and joyously on either shoulder. "Oh, what a grand thing to happen on a raw day! I felt it in my bones when I woke this morning that something splendid was going to turn up. I thought it might be Sister Kate or Cousin Mike would be happening along. I never dreamed it would be you, Bartley. But why do you let me chatter on like this? Come over to the fire; you're chilled through."

　　She pushed him toward the big chair by the fire, and sat down on a stool at the opposite side of the hearth, her knees drawn up to her chin, laughing like a happy little girl.

　　"When did you come, Bartley, and how did it happen? You haven't spoken a word."

　　"I got in about ten minutes ago. I landed at Liverpool this morning and came down on the boat train."

　　Alexander leaned forward and warmed his hands before the blaze. Hilda watched him with perplexity.

　　"There's something troubling you, Bartley. What is it?"

　　Bartley bent lower over the fire. "It's the whole thing that troubles me, Hilda. You and I."

　　Hilda took a quick, soft breath. She looked at his heavy shoulders and big, determined head, thrust forward like a catapult in leash.

　　"What about us, Bartley?" she asked in a thin voice.

　　He locked and unlocked his hands over the grate and spread his fingers close to the bluish flame, while the coals crackled and the clock ticked and a street vendor began to call under the window. At last Alexander brought out one word:——

　　"Everything!"

　　Hilda was pale by this time, and her eyes were wide with fright. She looked about desperately from Bartley to the door, then to the windows, and back again to Bartley. She rose uncertainly, touched his hair with her hand, then sank back upon her stool.

　　"I'll do anything you wish me to, Bartley," she said tremulously. "I can't stand seeing you miserable."

　　"I can't live with myself any longer," he answered roughly.

　　He rose and pushed the chair behind him and began to walk miserably about the room, seeming to find it too small for him. He pulled up a window as if the air were heavy.

　　Hilda watched him from her corner, trembling and scarcely breathing, dark shadows growing about her eyes.

　　"It . . . it hasn't always made you miserable, has it?" Her eyelids fell and her lips quivered.

　　"Always. But it's worse now. It's unbearable. It tortures me every minute."

　　"But why NOW?" she asked piteously, wringing her hands.