"You shall go with me." She felt his heart ticking away the seconds. "But I can't," she said softly. "You see, I've married him." "Great God--!" "I know. But I can't help it. I knew what I was doing. And he needs me." "Ah! If he's going to need you--And again, what of my need of you?" "You're a better man than he is." He pushed her from him and went to the window, and she dared not ask him for his thoughts. Perhaps he had none: perhaps, in the waste of snow from which the black trunks of trees stood up, he saw a likeness to his life. He turned to ask, "How often does that beast get washed?" She looked at him vaguely. "Who?" "That dog." "Oh--once a fortnight." "Who does it?" "John or I." "You let him sleep with you?" "Outside my door." "I think he ought to be inside. I'm going over to see John. You can't live here alone. And, Helen, I've not given up my right to you. You shall come to me when Mrs. Caniper sets you free." She was standing now, and she answered through stiff lips, "You mustn't hope for that. You know I told you long ago the kind of woman I am." "And you can't change yourself for my sake?" She moved uneasily. "I would, so gladly, if I could," she said, and he shook his head as though he did not believe her. "But I will not have you and John trying to arrange my life. I choose to be alone. If you interfere--" His look reproached her. "I'm sorry, Zebedee, but I'm suffering, too, and I know best about George, about myself. After all"--her voice rose and broke--"after all, I've married him! Oh, what a fuss, what a fuss! We make too much of it. We have to bear it. We are not willing to bear anything. Other women, other men, have lost what they loved best. We want too much. We were not meant for happiness." His hand was on the door, but he came back and stood close to her. "Do you think you have been talking to a stone? What do you expect of me? I"--he held his head--"I am trying to keep sane. To you, this may be a small thing among greater ones, but to me--it's the only one." "To me, too. But if I made a mistake in promising, I should make another in running away now. One has to do one's best." "And this is a woman's best!" he said in a voice she did not know. "Is that so bad?" She was looking at a stranger: she was in an empty world, a black, wild place, and in it she could not find Zebedee. "There is no logic in it," she heard him say, and she was in her room once more, holding to the bed-rail, standing near this haggard travesty of her man. "Oh! What have I done to you?" she cried out. He followed his own thought. "If your sense of duty is greater towards him than towards me, why don't you go to him and give him all he wants?" "He has not asked for it." "And I do. If he has no rights, remember mine; but if he has them--" "Yes, it may come to that," she said, and he saw her lined, white face.