She threw her things off and bathed her eyes, while he set out the table for the food. When the boy appeared with it, Jarvis led her to her chair and served her. She smiled mistily at him.

"It's nerves and excitement and overwork," she explained. He nodded.

"If it failed now, it would be too awful," he said.

"Don't say that word; don't even think it!" she cried.

"You mustn't care so much," he begged her.

"Don't you care?"

"Of course, more than you know. But I am prepared for failure, if it comes."

"I can't be prepared for it. It cannot happen!" she sobbed.

He stood looking down at her helplessly.

"What can I do for you? What is it you want?" he demanded gently.

"I want to be rocked," she sobbed.

"To be----"

She pushed him into a big chair, and climbed into his arms.

"Rocked," she finished.

He held her a minute closely, then he rose and set her down.

"I can't do it," he began. "I have something to tell you that must be said----"

"Not to-night, Jarvis, I'm too tired."

"Yes, to-night, before another hour pa.s.ses. Sit down there, please."

She obeyed, curiously.

"Do you remember Christmas Eve, when I came home?"

"Yes."

"Did you notice anything different about me?"

"How, different?"

"Did it occur to you that I cared about you, for the first time?"

"I--I--suspicioned it a little."

"Then you deliberately ignored it because you did not want my love?"

"I--I--didn't mean to ignore it."

"But you did."

"I wasn't sure; you never spoke of it, never said you cared. After that first night I thought I must have been mistaken."

"But you were glad to be mistaken?"

"No. I was sorry," she said, softly.

"What?" sharply.

"I wanted your love, Jarvis."

"You can't mean that."

"But I do!"

"But, Strong--you love Strong----"

She rose quickly, her face flushed.

"I love Richard Strong as my friend, and in no other way."

"Certainly he loves you."

"He has never told me so."

"You let me believe you cared for him; you tortured me with your show of preference for him."

"You imagined that, Jarvis. It is not true!"

"It is true!" he cried, pa.s.sionately. "I came to you, eager for your love, wanting you as I had never wanted anything. You flaunted this man in my face, you shut me out, you drove me back on myself----"

"Well?"

"What did you expect me to do? Endure forever in silence?"

"What did you do? Or what do you mean to do?"

"I have come to care for a woman who understands me----"

"A woman, Jarvis?"

"The woman who wrote 'Francesca.' I cared first because she had put into her heroine so many things that were like you."

"Well?" she said again.