“Can’t you confide in your—­other mother—­”

“I have no right.  She did not bear me.”

“It is the same as though you were her own; she feels so—­”

“She cannot feel so!  Nor can I. If I could I would take my fears and sorrows and my sins to her.  I could take them to my own mother, for both our sakes; I cannot, to her, for my own sake alone.  And never can.”

“Then—­I don’t understand!  You have just suggested telling her about ourselves, haven’t you?”

“Yes.  But not that it has been a horror—­a mistake.  If I tell her—­if I think it necessary—­best—­to tell them, I—­it will be done with mask still on—­cheerfully—­asking pardon with a smile—­I do not lack that kind of courage.  I can do that—­if I must.”

“There will be a new ceremony?”

“If they wish....  I can’t—­can’t talk of it yet, unless I’m driven to it—­”

He looked quietly around at her.  “What drives you, Shiela?”

Her eyes remained resolutely fixed on the road ahead, but her cheeks were flaming; and he turned his gaze elsewhere, thoughtful, chary of speech, until at last the lights of the station twinkled in the north.

Then he said, carelessly friendly:  “I’ll just say this:  that, being of no legitimate use to anybody, if you find any use for me, you merely need to say so.”

“Thank you, Louis.”

“No; I thank you!  It’s a new sensation—­to be of legitimate use to anybody.  Really, I’m much obliged.”

“Don’t speak so bitterly—­”

“Not at all.  Short of being celestially translated and sinlessly melodious on my pianola up aloft, I had no hope of ever being useful to you and Hamil—­”

She turned a miserable and colourless face to his and he ceased, startled at the tragedy in such young eyes.

Then he burst out impulsively:  “Oh, why don’t you cut and run with him!  Why, you little ninny, if I loved anybody like that I’d not worry over the morals of it!”

“What!” she gasped.

“Not I!  Make a nunnery out of me if you must; clutch at me for sanctuary, if you want to; I’ll stand for it!  But if you’ll listen to me you’ll give up romantic martyrdom and sackcloth, put on your best frock, smile on Hamil, and go and ask your mother for a bright, shiny, brand-new divorce.”

Revolted, incensed, eyes brilliant with anger, she sat speechless and rigid, clutching the steering-wheel as he nimbly descended to the platform.

“Good-bye, Shiela,” he said with a haggard smile.  “I meant well—­as usual.”

Something about him as he stood there alone in the lamp’s white radiance stilled her anger by degrees.

“Good-bye,” she said with an effort.

He nodded, replaced his hat, and turned away.

“Good-bye, Louis,” she said more gently.

He retraced his steps, and stood beside the motor, hat off.  She bent forward, generous, as always, and extended her hand.