Taken from "The Harmsworth Magazine," Volume VI, February 1901 - July 1901
iting in the shabby little drawing-room now for her to make her appearance.
When, after a short interval, Madge came in, he was shocked to find how pale and thin she had grown; to note the dark hollows under her eyes; the weary, pathetic droop of the sweet mouth.
"Why! what have you been doing to yourself?" he asked her, in concern, holding both her hands in his, and gazing anxiously into her eyes. "You don't look very fit, do you?"
"I am perfectly well, thank you," she said, a trifle coldly, he thought, as she freed her hands, and seated herself on the low ottoman in the window.
His hear sank unaccountably. He had hoped, had thought somehow, she would be more pleased to see him again.
"Been writing at all lately?" he hazarded, after they had talked for some minutes on purely impersonal topics.
"No. I have not. I never mean to--to--write anything again."
In his heart he felt rejoiced that she had sufficient good sense to arrive at this determin