A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
"Oh, the women!" said a woman's voice in a rough whisper. "I cannot bear to think"
"Oh, it isn't the women, Aunty! You sha'n't say that—they are heart-breaking. It's the men, the men I bl"
Swiftly, hopelessly, as the steel turns to the magnet, Dillon turned and faced Helena Huntington.
As her eyes met his all the rose colour in her soft cheeks seemed to sweep into his and burn dully there, leaving her whiter than bone. For one fiery second her eyes rested on the table, the half-emptied glasses, the clasped hands of the pair, the tear-stained cheeks of the handsome girl. For one breath two groups of stone confronted each other. Then, with no sign of recognition, she swept from her seat, her hand on the rector's arm, her aunt and an older man behind them. Her aunt looked at Dillon as if he were the chair he sat in.
The door swung behind them.
"No life so perfect as a life with thee,
Oh, promise me; oh, promise me!"
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