He had come to talk to her of Lily--that was all! There had been a third at the feast she had spread for him, and that third had taken her own place.

She tried to follow what he was saying, to cling to her own part in the talk--but it was all as meaningless as the boom of waves in a drowning head, and she felt, as the drowning may feel, that to sink would be nothing beside the pain of struggling to keep up.
Selden rose, and she drew a deep breath, feeling that soon she could yield to the blessed waves.
"Mrs.Fisher's?
You say she was dining there?
There's music afterward; I believe I had a card from her." He glanced at the foolish pink-faced clock that was drumming out this hideous hour.

"A quarter past ten?
I might look in there now; the Fisher evenings are amusing.

I haven't kept you up too late, Gerty?
You look tired--I've rambled on and bored you." And in the unwonted overflow of his feelings, he left a cousinly kiss upon her cheek.
At Mrs.Fisher's, through the cigar-smoke of the studio, a dozen voices greeted Selden.

A song was pending as he entered, and he dropped into a seat near his hostess, his eyes roaming in search of Miss Bart.