The two men looked at each other, a long look in which distrust at least was faced and ended. The excited flush, died out of John's cheek. He looked weary and shame-faced.
"I thought she loved you," said Spence simply.
The doctor's eyes fell. It was his honest admission that he, too, had thought this possible.
"Even now," went on the professor haltingly, "I can-not believe ... it doesn't seem possible ... me? ... John, does the letter mean that Desire loves me?"
John Rogers nodded, turning away.
Silence fell between them.
"What will you do—about the other?" asked the doctor presently.
"What other? There is no other. I loved Desire from the very first night I saw her. I didn't know it, then. It was all new. And," with a bitter smile, "so different from what one expects. Mary was never any-thing but the figure of straw I told you of. I thought," naively, "that Desire had forgotten Mary."
"Did you?" said John. "Why man, the woman doesn't live who would forget! And Miss Davis filled the bill to the last item—even the name 'Mary'."
"Oh what a pal was M-Mary!" croaked Yorick obligingly.