She stopped, for I had risen and flung her hands from me, and stood looking at her. God help me! I thought it was anger at the lie I felt. I know now it was only wounded vanity that smarted in me. That _I_ should have been tricked, that _I_ should have been deceived, that _I_ should have been led on to make a fool of myself! That _I_ should have married the woman who had befooled me! At that moment she was no longer the wife I adored--she was only a woman who had forged a letter and tricked me into marrying her. I spoke; I denounced her; I said I would never speak to her again. I felt it was rather creditable in me to be so angry. I said I would have no more to do with a liar and forger. I don't know whether I expected her to creep to my knees and implore forgiveness. I think I had some vague idea that I could by-and-by consent with dignity to forgive and forget. I did not mean what I said. No, no; I did not mean a word of it. While I was saying it I was longing for her to weep and fall at my feet, that I might raise her and hold her in my arms again. But she did not fall at my feet; she stood quietly looking at me. "Arthur," she said, as I paused for breath, "let me explain--she--I----" "There is nothing to explain," I said hotly, still with that foolish sense of there being something rather noble in my indignation, as one feels when one calls one's self a miserable sinner. "You are a liar and forger, and that is enough for me. I will never speak to you again. You have wrecked my life----" "Do you mean that?" she said, interrupting me, and leaning forward to look at me. Tears lay on her cheeks, but she was not crying now. I hesitated. I longed to take her in my arms and say--"Lay your head here, my darling, and cry here, and know how I love you." But instead I kept silence. "_Do_ you mean it?" she persisted. Then she put her hand on my arm. I longed to clasp it and draw her to me. Instead, I shook it off, and said-- "Mean it? Yes--of course I mean it. Don't touch me, please! You have ruined my life." She turned away without a word, went into our room, and shut the door. I longed to follow her, to tell her that if there was anything to forgive I forgave it. Instead, I went out on the beach, and walked away under the cliffs.