"Our ideas as to right and wrong probably differ. I am certainly not going to argue the point, nor do I wish to shirk what responsibility I took on my shoulders when I married. But if it is upon your advice she has acted in this matter, ask God to forgive you for the cruel wrong you have done us both!" Then he picked up his hat and went out of the house. It was long past midnight when Bella returned; but late though it was, she knew by the lights in the drawing room that her husband was waiting up for her, and with an impatient sigh, determined to get her lecture over, she ran lightly up-stairs. He was there, sitting in her own cosy armchair, and he looked round expectantly as the door opened. "Well," she said nervously, stripping off her gloves, and avoiding meeting his stern, sad gaze. "I daresay you wonder where I have been and what has kept me so late; but, my dear old Jack, you will have to give up the bad habit of sitting up to all hours for me, for I'm likely to be late most nights now." She paused for a reply, but none came. Her easy assurance staggered him; he could hardly believe that this self-composed, glib-spoken young woman had been at one time his diffident, shy little love. The unhappy man found it very hard to reconcile the two. "Why don't you speak?" she asked impatiently, facing him in a defiant manner; and as he looked up at her he noticed for the first time that she had grown older and had lost all at once--at least, so it seemed to him--the rounded, childish look from her sweet face and involuntarily a sigh broke from him. "One would think I had committed a crime," cried she in disdain, and then, catching her skirts up, she broke into a step dance, humming a popular music-hall air. "Stop--do you hear me?--this instant stop!" the devil in him burst out; he could restrain himself no longer. "Woman! What are you made of?" he cried in a voice of thunder, and she, shrinking back a little, fell half frightened into a chair. He never could quite remember afterwards what he did say. He tried with rough eloquence, that might have moved a heart of stone, to show her what it was she was doing, to appeal to her better, nobler self, to her love for him; he implored and entreated her to give up this new life--for his sake. He had nothing better to urge than that, poor fool! It weighed with her as just so much chaff. The time had gone by when his words would have touched her; they glided lightly over what she called her "heart" now and left no impression there.