"My little wife, don’t, for God’s sake, don’t let that come between us! Be brave, fight it down. It will only be for a time. Our—my people are easily hurt. They think, perhaps, you despise them for their sober ways—that they are not good enough for you. Be kind to them, and they will come back. They would forgive you anything." She drew back from him. "I do not want their forgiveness. I do not want them. I am happiest alone." He made no answer, but went slowly towards the door. She knew that she had hurt him, and in her bitterness and wounded pride it gave her a painful satisfaction to know that he too suffered. Yet she loved him; she knew, as he stood there with bent head, that she would give her life for him—only she could not surrender herself, her individuality, the old ties of blood and instinct. She could not, would not break down the barrier which her race built between them. She was too proud, perhaps too hurt to try. Suddenly Arnim looked up. His features were quiet and composed, and the gathering twilight hid the expression in his eyes. "Nora, where is Miles?" "Still in bed. He—he is not feeling well." "The effects of yesterday?" He laughed grimly. "It seems to me, dear, that your brother would be the better for some occupation—in his own country." "You wish him to go?" He met her challenge with an unfaltering determination that was yet mingled with tenderness and pity. "I think it better—before it is too late." "What do you mean?" "Before he ruins himself—or us." "Wolff, you are not fair. You are unjust." He smiled sadly. "I hope I am. Good-bye, little woman. I shall try and be back early. But perhaps Arnold will come—and then you will not be alone." He went out, closing the door quietly behind him. The protest died on her lips; an icy sense of isolation crept over her, obliterating for the moment all thought of his injustice, of the slight which he had cast upon her brother. In her sudden weakness she held out her arms towards the closed door and called his name, feebly, like a frightened child crying in the dark. But he did not come back. She heard his spurs jingle with a mocking cheerfulness—and then silence. So she went back to her place by the window and sat there, holding back with a pitiful pride the tears that burnt her eyes. Presently the door opened again. She thought he had come back, and with all her pride her heart beat faster with a momentary, reasonless hope. Then she heard the click of the electric light and a man’s voice speaking to her. "_Gnädige Frau_, may I come in?"