"Don't I know?" she said. "It's always another woman. She's a young woman, whoever she is. Why don't you come out and tell me the truth, John? How long before you're going to be married?" The tears were welling steadily from her eyes, under the last of the many and bitter torments which are so often a woman's lot. "I say to you again, Laura, there are no plans of that sort in my mind!" "Then how long will it be before our--our--" She could not say the word "divorce." She had been an old-fashioned wife. "I've no plans as to that. I was only wanting to discuss the matter quietly to-night, without any disturbance." "No," she said, "I must not break down! Tell me, when does it come, John?" But still the tears came, steadily, and she made no effort to stop them. "When you like. I would suggest that you quietly go to some other place, Laura. That will be best for me. Why--" he added this in a burst of confidence, "--there wouldn't be twenty people around town would know you'd gone! I can keep a close tongue, and so can you." "But, John, why should we? I've never crossed you in any way. I've always tried to do what you liked. Why should we part? I'll be willing just to live along here quietly. I can't bear to think of going away. I like my things. John," she said suddenly, and seemingly irrelevantly, "who told you about all these things, these collectors' pieces that you've been getting for so long?" He winced with sudden self-revelation, astonished at this intuition on her part. He had been sincere in his statement that there was no other woman in his affections. He had only forgotten that he had no affections. He flushed now, but tried to pull together. "Very well, Laura," said he; "you only prove to me what I've felt for some time. You can't understand me, you simply are not up to my requirements. I'm willing to say _you'd_ be content to live along here, just as we did at Kelly Row. _I_ am not content to do anything of the sort. I've been thinking over this, studying over it for some time. There's the answer." He nodded toward the bundle which lay upon the table. V "It's no use trying to make the world all over again, Laura," he said after a time. "We've both done our best, but our best didn't tally. We've hung together. What's right is right. Is it right for me to be dragged down by your own limitations--ought I to stop in my own career to conform to that? Would that be right, now, Laura, for a man like me?--Is it right for any man? If you can't go forward, ought I to go back? If we can't both travel the same gait, whose gait ought to govern? Whatever you do, don't blame me, that's all. But you _did_ blame me--you do now." A grave look sat upon his face. He felt himself an injured man. "Yes, John," she said. "I do."