"Stay—now?" She drew back a step, and looked at him, and then over his shoulder at the little house. "Oh, Vance—you must know what I want. If only we could be back together at the Willows. I should be so content if I could help you as I used to. You remember the things we found together when you were doing Instead—the ideas you said might not have come to you if we hadn't talked it all over? Well, that's what I want … that you should come back to the Willows, now it's mine, and let me help you. Oh, Vance, say yes—say we can go back and begin again… ." She leaned toward him with a gesture of entreaty. "Don't you understand that what I want is all you can give me without having to hurt anybody else?"

He was silent, trying to take in her words. But the old difficulty persisted—she was too near, he was too much submerged by her nearness. "You don't see—" he began.

She interrupted passionately: "But I do—I do. How can you think I don't. Can't you see that I know it's different with you—perhaps always must be? All I want is that we should try to renew our friendship … that you should let me help you as I used to… . Don't you think I could make Laura Lou understand that?"

The sound of the name shook him abruptly out of his trance. "Laura Lou? She's dead," he said.

Halo Tarrant moved back a step and stood staring at him in dumb bewilderment. Then she began to tremble. Her face twitched, and she lifted her hands to hide it. Vance saw that she was crying; and presently her tears broke into sobs. She was suffering terribly; he saw that she was horrified and did not know how to express her dismay. He supposed that she thought him to blame for not telling her at once—perhaps regarded him as brutal, unfeeling. But he could not imagine why. All that belonged to another plane, to another life, almost … his mind refused to relate it to what he and she had in common. But how explain this to her, if she could not feel for herself the difference between that shadow and this burning reality?

"Vance—Vance—you ought to have told me," she sobbed reproachfully.

"I know," he said. "I was going to… ."

"What must you think of me? How could you let me go on talking like that?"

"I liked just to listen to your voice… ."

"Don't—don't say such things to me now!" She broke off to ask in a whisper. "How long ago was it?"

He had to make an effort of the memory. "It was a week ago yesterday."

"Only a week ago—oh, what must you think of me?"

"I wish you wouldn't cry," he pleaded.

"Oh, Vance—can you ever forgive me?"

"Yes."