"Yes, yes, yes! Can't you understand? What I felt for him four or five years ago was that young thing everyone goes through."

"Young things grow. Great oaks...."

"Not this one. When you came, it was over. Is over."

He shook his head, and passed his hand over his face. "God knows I want to believe that. You're my wife, Mary. I love every bit of you. But Lathrop keeps bobbing up."

The fire crackled like dry leaves, rouging the unhappy walls. "There are more questions?" she wanted to know.

"Yes."

"Ask them."

"Did you know he was going to be on the committee?"

"Of course not."

"Forgive me, Mary, but—but have you spent any extra time with him?"

"Oh John! We talk at the meetings—'Hello—it's a roaring day—have you heard the latest about Ganymede?'"

"That's all?"

"I swear."

"You don't feel anything?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He's a friend, a brother, a comfortable dog."

The stiffness went out of Hastings. He sank back breathing hard, as if he had been running too fast. "Mary, you don't know how good that hears. You just don't know!"

"Oh my darling!" She held his head in her arms, her mouth close to his ear. "Has it been this, all these months?"

The man nodded, laughing a little. "I just couldn't take the thought that maybe—"

"Hush, hush! Don't even say it any more. Drink the wine and remember 

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