“He had no right to extort any such promise from you!” he cried.  “Anne, think it over!  Weigh Peter Champneys and me in the balance.  And,—­let the best man win, Anne.  Will you?”

She regarded him steadfastly.  “Yes,” she said.

“And when you have decided, you will let me know?”

“I will let you know,” said she, smiling faintly.

Berkeley took her hand and kissed it.  He looked deep into her eyes.  Then he left her.  He had been very quiet, but his passion for her glowed in his eyes, rang in his voice, and was in the lips that kissed her palm.

She had not been in the least thrilled by it, but she was not displeased.  She liked him.  As for loving him, she didn’t think it was really in her to love anybody.  Looking back upon her youthful infatuation for Glenn Mitchell, she smiled at herself twistedly.  She knew now that she had been in love with the bright shadow of love.

But, she reflected, if she did not love Hayden, she respected him, she was proud of him; he represented all that was best and most desirable in her present life.  Life with Berkeley Hayden wouldn’t be empty.  And life as she faced it now was as empty as a shell that has lost even the faintest echo of the sea.  Despite its outward glitter, its mother-of-pearl sheen, she was beginning to be more and more aware of its innate hollowness.  Her young and healthy nature cried out against its futility.  She was in the May morning of her existence, and yet the joy of youth eluded her.

She had, perhaps, one more year of freedom.  Then,—­Peter Champneys.  Berkeley might well ask what she was going to do about it!  Was she to accept as final that contract which would make her the unloved wife of an unloved husband?  Now that she had grown somewhat older and considerably wiser, now that her horizon had widened, her sense of values broadened, she perceived that she owed to herself, to her sacredest instincts, the highest duty.  She did not like to break her pledged word; but that pledge wronged Berkeley, wronged her, wronged Peter.

Her feeling toward that unknown husband was one of stark terror, a sick dislike that had grown stronger with the years.  In her mind he remained unchanged.  She saw him as the gawky, shrinking boy, his lips apart, his eyes looking at her with uncontrollable aversion.  Oh, no!  Life with Peter Champneys was unthinkable!  There remained, then, Berkeley Hayden.  It wasn’t unpleasant to think of Berkeley Hayden.  It made one feel safe, and assured; there was a glamour of gratified pride about it,—­Nancy Simms,—­Mrs. Peter Champneys,—­Mrs. Berkeley Hayden.  A little smile touched her lips.

Into these not unpleasant musings Mr. Jason Vandervelde irrupted himself, with the astounding request that she come with him now, immediately, to a hospital where a girl unknown to her prayed to see her.  Hoichi had turned the lights on upon Mr. Vandervelde’s entrance, and Anne looked at her visitor wonderingly.