THE FRIENDS OF PROGRESS
pair passed him without seeing him, but for an instant the lamplight fell upon her face and showed it white and tired.
Lewisham stopped dead at the corner, staring in blank astonishment after these two figures as they receded into the haze under the lights. He was dumfounded. A clock struck slowly. It was midnight. Presently down the road came the slamming of their door.
Long after the echo died away he stood there. "She has been at a séance; she has broken her promise. She has been at a séance, she has broken her promise," sang in perpetual reiteration through his brain.
And then came the interpretation. "She has done it because I have left her. I might have told it from her letters. She has done it because she thinks I am not in earnest, that my love-making was just boyishness. . . .
"I knew she would never understand."
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