Again the ironic smile twisted the visible corner of his mouth. “Shall we exchange confidences--last confessions, and all that? I’d just as soon. Reticence isn’t worth much now. Only--you begin.” “I saw,” she said, slowly, “my husband’s eyes. I had forgotten how they looked when he found that I really meant to insist on a separation. He could not bear it, for he adored the ground I walked on. It was five years ago. I had no presentable reason for leaving him. He was so horribly good-natured that it used to irritate me. And I didn’t care for the domestic life. It interfered with my work, although he had promised that it should not. I wanted to be free again. He let me have the child. He was very good about the whole business--painfully good, in fact. But it did hurt him cruelly. I have been very much happier since, but I don’t suppose he has.” “Did he have brown eyes--the big, faithful, dog-like kind?” asked the man. “How did you know?” “That good sort often do. The girl I jilted did. We had been engaged almost from our cradles. There was an accident with horses, and she got hurt. She limped a little afterward, and there were scars on her face and neck--not very bad scars, but still they were there. She had been a little beauty before that; but she never at any time thought much about her looks, and it hadn’t occurred to her that I minded. But I did mind. I fretted over it until I fancied that I didn’t love her, after all; but I did. One day I told her so. You know how she looked at me. She asked if the accident made any difference, and I hadn’t the skill to lie about it so that she believed me. She rose at once, as if to put an end to our interview. All she said was, ‘I thought you knew better what love was.’ I can hear how her voice sounded. She was badly cut up; lost her health and all that. And I never could pretend I wasn’t to blame. The girl I married later was faultlessly pretty, but there was nothing in the world to her.” “We seem to be a nice sort, don’t we?” said the woman, reflectively. “We are no worse than others. Unselfishness is out of fashion. Everybody takes what he wants nowadays.” “My husband didn’t.” “I respect your husband. But you did it. We did the same sort of thing, you and I; only I think you are the worse of the two. It is natural for a man to want a wife who isn’t disfigured.” “It is natural for a clever woman to want to live unfettered.” “Perhaps. But I erred through the worser part of my nature, and you through the better. My revolt against unselfishness was physical, and yours intellectual. Therefore you fell farther than I, by as much as the mind is better than the body; don’t you see?” “That is speciously put, but I doubt its truth.” Both were silent for a space.