shame. "Had n't we—had n't we better turn back, Floyd?—so that I can telephone to Lydia?"
"Oh, no, we don't need to do that.—Perhaps it would be just as well, when we get downtown, if I stop at a hotel and send her a message.—But don't worry about it any more, Marion; it's all right, really."
"Thank you, Floyd, for—for taking it so.—But I don't see how you can ever trust me with anything again."
He laughed. "Put that with the things that you can't see for yourself—till I show you. I guess there are n't many—but we'll call that one."
He felt her hand groping round, he felt it find his and press it gently.
It was a long drive to the region of theatres and hotels, and happy as he was Floyd could not help considering after a while what might be the consequences of Marion's indiscretion. He could not believe that they might be serious; to imagine them so would be to imagine both an unexampled fierceness and an improbable swiftness of action on Stewart's part. He said after a while with some reluctance,—
"I guess I can't very well telephone to Lydia about this thing, Marion. Would you mind doing it? I think you could put it so that it would be less awkward for her."
"I'd be glad if you'd let me," Marion answered.
The carriage stopped in front of a hotel which was next door to their theatre; as they were going in, Marion asked, in a deprecating voice, "Do my eyes look very red, Floyd?" and he replied, "They look very nice and shiny." "Ah," she said, with a grateful gleam of humor, "you are nice, Floyd,—not to mind even red eyes!"
He waited for her outside the booth while she telephoned; it took longer than he had supposed it would do. When at last she emerged, he knew at once by her white, frightened face that she had something unsuspected and ominous to report.
"I was too late," she said, as they stood withdrawn into