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Montague was speechless, before the agony of her humiliation.

“You see!” she whispered.

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“Lucy,” he began, protesting.

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But suddenly she caught him by the arm. “Allan,” she whispered, “I know that you have to try to stop me. But it is no use, and I must do it! And I cannot bear to hear you—it makes it too hard for me. My course is chosen, and nothing in the world can turn me; and I want you to go away and leave me. I want you to go—right now! I am not afraid of Waterman; I am not afraid of anything that he can do. I am only afraid of you, and your unhappiness. I want you to leave me to my fate! I want you to stop thinking about me!”

“I cannot do it, Lucy,” he said.

She reached up and pulled the signal cord; and the cab came to a halt.

“I want you to get out, Allan!” she cried wildly. “Please get out, and go away.”

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He started to protest again; but she pushed him away in frenzy. “Go, go!” she cried; and half dazed, and scarcely realising what he did, he gave way to her and stepped out into the street.

“Drive!” she called to the man, and shut the door; and Montague found himself standing on a driveway in the park, with the lights of the cab disappearing around a turn.

Montague started to walk. He had no idea where he went; his mind was in a whirl, and he was lost to everything about him. He must have spent a couple of hours wandering about the park and the streets of the city; when at last he stopped and looked about him, he was on a lighted thoroughfare, and a big clock in front of a jewellery store was pointing to the hour of two.

He looked around. Immediately across the street was a building which he recognised as the office of the Express; and in a flash he thought of Bates. “Come in after the paper has gone to press,” the latter had said.

He went in and entered the elevator.

“I want to see Mr. Bates, a reporter,” he said.

“City-room,” said the elevator man; “eleventh floor.”

Montague confronted a very cross and sleepy-looking office-boy. “Is Mr. Bates in?” he asked.