She flung back her head and stared at him, and he saw the terror and anguish in her eyes.  “No, no!” she cried, “don’t say that to me!  I can’t bear it—­oh, see what I have done!  Look at me!  Have mercy on me!”

“Mrs. Winnie,” he said, “you must have mercy on me!”

But he only felt her clasp him more tightly.  He took her by the wrists, and with quiet force he broke her hold upon him; her hands fell to her sides, and she stared at him, aghast.

“I must go,” he said, again.

And he started toward the door.  She followed him dumbly with her eyes.

“Good-bye,” he said.  He knew that there was no use of any more words; his sympathy had been like oil upon flames.  He saw her move, and as he opened the door, she flung herself down in a chair and burst into frantic weeping.  He shut the door softly and went away.

He found his way down the stairs, and got his hat and coat, and went out, unseen by anyone.  He walked down the Avenue-and there suddenly was the giant bulk of St. Cecilia’s lifting itself into the sky.  He stopped and looked at it—­it seemed a great tumultuous surge of emotion.  And for the first time in his life it seemed to him that he understood why men had put together that towering heap of stone!

Then he went on home.

He found Alice dressing for a ball, and Oliver waiting for her.  He went to his room, and took off his coat; and Oliver came up to him, and with a sudden gesture reached over to his shoulder, and held up a trophy.

He drew it out carefully, and measured the length of it, smiling mischievously in the meanwhile.  Then he held it up to the light, to see the colour of it.

“A black one!” he cried.  “Coal black!” And he looked at his brother, with a merry twinkle in his eyes.  “Oh, Allan!” he chuckled.

Montague said nothing.

CHAPTER XX

It was about a week from the beginning of Lent, when there would be a lull in the city’s gaieties, and Society would shift the scene of its activities to the country clubs, and to California and Hot Springs and Palm Beach.  Mrs. Caroline.  Smythe invited Alice to join her in an expedition to the last-named place; but Montague interposed, because he saw that Alice had been made pale and nervous by three months of night-and-day festivities.  Also, a trip to Florida would necessitate ten or fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of new clothes; and these would not do for the summer, it appeared—­they would be faded and passe by that time.

So Alice settled back to rest; but she was too popular to be let alone—­a few days later came another invitation, this time from General Prentice and his family.  They were planning a railroad trip—­to be gone for a month; they would have a private train, and twenty five people in the party, and would take in California and Mexico—­“swinging round the circle,” as it was called.  Alice was wild to go, and Montague gave his consent.  Afterward he learned to his dismay that Charlie Carter was one of those invited, and he would have liked to have Alice withdraw; but she did not wish to, and he could not make up his mind to insist.