After the curtain had fallen—­fallen and lifted, again and again, to permit of her standing in the glare, smiling happily, and kissing her hands toward the enthusiastic multitude—­he passed out with the others, still partially dazed, his mind remaining undecided, irresolute.  With the cool night air fanning his cheeks as their car rolled southward, clearer consciousness came back, bringing with it firmer resolve.  She had not wanted him; in all those years there had not come from her a single word.  Now, on this night of her triumph, in the midst of family rejoicing, he had no part.  It had all been a mistake, a most unhappy mistake, yet he would do now everything in his power to remedy it.  His further presence should not be allowed to detract from her happiness, should not continue to embarrass her.  The past between them was dead; undoubtedly she wished it dead.  Very well, then, he would help her to bury it, now and forever.  Not through any neglect on his part should that past ever again rise up to haunt her in the hour of success.  She had discovered her ideal, she had attained to the height of her ambition.  She should be left to enjoy the victory undisturbed.  Within the hotel rotunda, under the multicolored lights, he halted Craig, hurrying forward to a conference with the steward.

“I am awfully sorry, old man,” he explained apologetically, “but the fact is, I do not feel well enough to remain down here to the spread.  Nothing serious, you know—­indigestion or something like that.  I ’ll run up to my room and lie down for a while; if I feel better I may wander in later.”

Craig looked concerned.

“Thought you were mighty white about the gills all the evening, Ned—­the lobster salad, likely.  I hate letting you go, awfully; upon my word, I do.  I wanted Lizzie to meet you; she ’s always heard me singing your praises, and your not being there will prove quite a disappointment to her.  But Lord! if you ’re sick, why, of course, there’s no help for it.  Come down later, if you can, and I ’ll run up there as soon as I can break away from the bunch.  Sure you don’t need the house physician?”

“Perfectly sure; all I require is rest and a bit of sleep.  Been working too hard, and am dead tired.”

He sank down within the great arm-chair in the silence of his own room, not even taking trouble to turn on the lights; mechanically lit a cigar, and sat staring out of the window.  Before him the black, threatening cloud-shadows hung over the dark water of the lake; far below resounded the ceaseless clatter of hoofs along the fashionable avenue.  He neither saw nor heard.  Over and over again he reviewed the past, bringing back to memory each word and glance which had ever, passed between them.  He was again with the “Heart of the World” strollers, he was struggling with Burke in the depths of the mine, he was passing through that day and night of misfortune on the ridge overlooking Echo Canyon, he was riding