Lane looked down at her, at her glistening auburn hair, and slender, white, ringed hand clutching the cushions, at her lissom shaking form, at the shapely legs in the rolled-down silk stockings--and he felt a melancholy happiness in the proof that he had reached her shallow heart, and in the fact that this was the moment of loss.
"Good-bye--Helen," he said.
"Daren--don't--go," she begged.
But he had to go, for other reasons beside the one that this was the end of all intimate relation between him and Helen.

He had overtaxed his strength, and the burning pang in his breast was one he must heed.
On the hall stairway a dizzy spell came over him.

He held on to the banister until the weakness passed.

Fortunately there was no one to observe him.

Somehow the sumptuous spacious hall seemed drearily empty.