“Do you want to go out?”
“I’m going out. You can do as you please. I’m going over to see Marie.”
“Marie? At this time of night?”
He found his hat behind the sofa. He put it on, pulling the soft brim far down over his eyes.
“Good-night,” he said casually, as he walked out of the room. He was not fully conscious that there was anybody else there. He had one determination. In view of that everything else was forgotten.
Vain resolve! The windows at 355 McDougal Street were brilliantly lighted, policemen were in front of the door, people stared, and there was general confusion. Some one had been killed. Paul learned, finally, that Marie had committed suicide.
He felt, rather, that he had committed murder.
Thus, when he return to his own apartment and found the girl still there, he was glad to forget Hanaré’s death that way instead.
RUSSELL WHEELER DAVENPORT.