THE INTOXICATION OF WAR It was two days later,--and they had been days of blank suspense for him,--that Durkin made his way to Frank's room, unobserved.

His first resolution had been to wait for a clearer coast, but his anxiety overcame him, and he could hold off no longer.
As he opened the door and stepped noiselessly inside he caught sight of her by the window, her face ruminative and in repose.

It looked, for the moment, unhappy and tired and hard.

She seemed to stand before him with a mask off, a designing and disillusioned woman, no longer in love with the game of life.

Or it was, he imagined, as she would look ten years later, when her age had begun to tell on her, and her still buoyant freshness was gone.