“What does she mean?” said Arthur Arden, looking dully at him; and then he turned to his wife. “Well, Clare, you’ve had occasion to be angry--I don’t deny it. I don’t excuse myself. I ought to have looked deeper into that old affair. But the punishment has been as great on me as on you.” “Oh, the punishment!” she cried. “What is the punishment in comparison? It is time I should tell you what I am going to do.” “There, there now!” he said, half frightened, half coaxing. “We are going home. Things will come right, and time will mend everything. No one knows but Edgar, and we can trust Edgar. I will not press you for pardon. I will wait; I will be patient----” “I am not going home any more. I have no home,” she said. “Clare, Clare!” “Listen to what I say. I am ill. There shall be no slander--no story for the world to talk of. I have told everybody that I am going to Italy for my health. It need not even be known that you don’t go with me. I have made all my arrangements. You go your way, and I go mine. It is all settled, and there is nothing more to say.” She rose up and stood firm before them, very pale, very shadowy, a slight creature, but immovable, invincible. Arthur Arden knew his wife less than her brother did. He tried to overcome her by protestations, by entreaties, by threats, by violence. Nothing made any impression upon her; she had made her decision, and Heaven and earth could not turn her from it. Edgar had to hold what place he could between them--now seconding Arden’s arguments, now subduing his violence; but neither the one nor the other succeeded in their efforts. She consented to wait in London a day or two, and to allow Edgar to arrange her journey for her--a journey upon which she needed and would accept no escort--but that was all. Arden came away a broken man, on Edgar’s arm, almost sobbing in his despair. “You won’t leave me, Edgar--you’ll speak for me--you’ll persuade her it is folly--worse than folly!” he cried. * * * * * It was long before Edgar could leave him, a little quieted by promises of all that could be done. Arden clung to him as to his last hope. Thus it was afternoon when at last he was able to turn his steps towards Berkeley Square. * * * * *