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He picked the watch up between his broad thumb and forefinger, and
then, his face a cold and dreadful mask, he mounted the stairs.


CHAPTER XXVII
Clayton Spencer was facing with characteristic honesty a situation
that he felt was both hopeless and shameful.
He was hopelessly in love with Audrey. He knew now that he had
known it for a long time. Here was no slender sentiment, no thin
romance. With every fiber of him, heart and soul and body, he
loved her and wanted her. There was no madness about it, save
the fact itself, which was mad enough. It was not the single
attraction of passion, although he recognized that element as
fundamental in it. It was the craving of a strong man who had
at last found his woman.
He knew that, as certainly as he knew anything. He did not even
question that she cared for him. It was as though they both had
passed through the doubting period without knowing it, and had
arrived together at the same point, the crying need of each other.


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