"You know I should have."
"No, Sanford, we seek only that which is beyond our reach," she said softly, laying her hand on his arm. "The candle has burned out. Do not try to relight it. I have been only an incident in your life—"
"That's not true."
"Don't you suppose I know about the others?"
"They were nothing to me. It was you, always you."
"One who has been through the mill doesn't care to be crushed by the mill-stones a second time. Take my advice, Sanford—return to New York, seek out some nice young girl, and marry her."
"Really!" Mrs. Dainton laughed lightly as she ran down the steps and was helped into the car by the vigilant Victor. "Ta-ta, Sanford, I'll see you to-morrow, or the day after." And in another moment the big, red touring-car had whirled away, leaving upon the steps the solitary figure of a tall, dark, good-looking chap of uncertain age, who clenched his hands tightly, then turned suddenly as a bell-boy passed along the veranda.
"Boy!"
"Yes, sir."