Such was the first flush of George Stransom's reaction; but as he sat alone that night--there were particular hours he always passed alone--the harshness dropped from it and left only the pity.

_He_ could spend an evening with Kate Creston, if the man to whom she had given everything couldn't.

He had known her twenty years, and she was the only woman for whom he might perhaps have been unfaithful.

She was all cleverness and sympathy and charm; her house had been the very easiest in all the world and her friendship the very firmest.

Without accidents he had loved her, without accidents every one had loved her: she had made the passions about her as regular as the moon makes the tides.