Perhaps the great relief I feel, the sense of joy at knowing she is free, speaks out of my face; for hers flushes and she drops her eyes, her lips tremble. I don't look at her again, but I can see her all the same. After a while she says,-- "I half intended to tell you something about myself this evening, now I _must_. Let us go in; I shall come down to the sitting-room after your supper." She takes a long look at the river and the inn, as if fixing the place in her memory; it strikes me with a chill that there is a good-by in her gaze. Her eyes rest on me a moment as they come back; there is a sad look in their gray clearness. She swings her little gray gloves in her hand as we walk back. I can hear her walking up and down overhead; how tired she will be, and how slowly the time goes! I am standing at one side of the window when she enters; she stands at the other, leaning her head against the shutter, with her hands clasped before her. I can hear my own heart beating, and I fancy hers, through the stillness; the suspense is fearful. At length she says,-- "You have been a long time out of England, you don't read the papers?" "No." A pause; I believe my heart is beating inside my head. "You asked me if I was a free woman. I don't pretend to misunderstand why you asked me. I am not a beautiful woman, I never was; but there must be something about me--there is in some women, 'essential femininity' perhaps--that appeals to all men. What I read in your eyes I have seen in many men's before; but before God I never tried to rouse it. To-day [with a sob] I can say I am free; yesterday morning I could not. Yesterday my husband gained his case, and divorced me!" She closes her eyes and draws in her under-lip to stop its quivering. I want to take her in my arms but I am afraid to. "I did not ask you any more than if you were free!" "No; but I am afraid you don't quite take in the meaning. I did not divorce my husband, he divorced _me_; he got a decree _nisi_. Do you understand now? [She is speaking with difficulty.] Do you know what that implies?" I can't stand her face any longer. I take her hands, they are icy cold, and hold them tightly. "Yes, I know what it implies; that is, I know the legal and social conclusion to be drawn from it, if that is what you mean. But I never asked you for that information. I have nothing to do with your past; you did not exist for me before the day we met on the river. I take you from that day, and I ask you to marry me." I feel her tremble, and her hands get suddenly warm. She turns her head and looks at me long and searchingly; then she says,-- "Sit down, I want to say something!" I obey, and she comes and stands next the chair. I can't help it, I reach up my arm; but she puts it gently down.