affection compared with the passionate surrender of the wife. Even the discomforts of their honeymoon days in Pittsey's flat were lost in the sunrise flush of happiness that made all beautiful. Even her mother's anger softened into a natural misunderstanding which the girl sympathized with and forgave.
As for Don, he had arrived at the promised land. His great dream had come true. He felt that no hope could be too extravagant since this impossibility had come to pass. He hurried home at night, from the long day's separation, eager to bill and coo, to plan new joys for their future and to recall the vicissitudes of their past. He had to discover when it was that she had really, first, begun to love him. He had to be assured endlessly that she was happy. He had to sit over their late supper, basking in the comforts of domesticity, contrasting these full days of their companionship with the hungry ones he had come through. If she smiled at the wildness of his castle-building, he replied: "Well, would you have believed, a month ago, that we'd be here? You leave this to me. I'll do it. First we'll move into a comfortable flat. Then I'll write the bulliest play ever—and get Miss Morris the lead in it. Then I'm going to get Conroy on his feet. Then, as soon as the theatre closes for the summer, we're going on our honeymoon to Coulton—to see mother. Then"
Meanwhile Miss Morris had not returned to the theatre, and when he attempted to see her he was told that she was ill. When he learned from Walter Pittsey that she had left Polk's company, he endeavoured to find out what had happened; and Pittsey
