He noticed then that never, of her own free will, did she herself mention the man; never did she speak of him with the old frank lightness as "Mary Jane." By casual questions asked from time to time, Bertram had learned that Arkwright never came there now, and that the song-writing together had been given up.

Curiously enough, this discovery, which would once have filled Bertram with joy, served now only to deepen his distress.

That there was anything inconsistent in the fact that he was more frightened now at the man's absence than he had been before at his presence, did not occur to him.

He knew only that he was frightened, and badly frightened.
Bertram had not forgotten the evening after the operetta, and Billy's tear-stained face on that occasion.

He dated the whole thing, in fact, from that evening.