next she received one saying he would be delayed a few days longer. Then the temptation came to her to go while he was away. In spite of her attempts to put it out of mind the idea obsessed her, but always when it came to standing in her room and visualizing the packing process she could get no farther.
One morning it came over her more clearly than ever how strange her life with him had been. She had never really belonged there. She was like a person passing by. She had had that feeling often. The place was in no sense hers. She had never asked a person to it. She did not feel that even in Dane’s absence she could have asked Mrs. Benton to come to tea, or to stay the night. It was completely his place, and even when he was away his spirit seemed to hover over it. His personality dominated it. And she had left no mark on it save the flower-beds. Perhaps that was one reason why she wanted to go. And yet she had been so happy here. She wondered if she would ever be as happy anywhere else.
She gardened, she rode, she walked, she played, she tried to write. She tried not to think. She tried to see some glory still ahead in the future for her and Dane.
And then she got the letter.
“Dear Valerie: I think you will understand what I am going to say. You and I went through a conventional ceremony three years ago that seemed absurd to us because it made impossible demands upon us, and so we made a ceremony of our own that we did mean to live up to. I don’t know what you said in yours, but I can guess a little. But the thing I’m remembering now is what I said in mine. I wanted a little of your life, a little of your youth and love. There were times when I thought I had no right to it, and then I felt I had a right if you cared
