I often wonder what another woman would have done in my place. She loves a man as I loved Christopher--as I love him still. She is proud, she has always been admired, she cannot bear the thought of being pitied. And suddenly she learns that she has disgraced herself, she has violated the sacred traditions of modesty that restrain all women. She has acted like an abandoned woman towards the man she worships. God! It is true she has done this without knowing it, without being responsible for it, but she has done it, and that ineffaceable memory will always shame her, if she becomes his wife. Day after day she will read it in his eyes, in his reticencies, in his efforts to be cheerful--she will know that he remembers--_what she was!_ NO! She could not bear it, no woman with any pride could bear it. Pride! What is pride? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? Would I be a finer woman if I could endure this humiliation and gracefully accept forgiveness? I suppose some women would take it all simply, like a grateful patient cured of an illness. Alas! that is not my nature. * * * * * How little we know ourselves! We all wear masks of one kind or another that hide our true personalities even from ourselves. How will a woman act in sudden peril? In a moral crisis? In the face of shattering disgrace? Let the most beautiful wife and mother realize that some painful chapter in her life is to be opened to the world--what price will she not pay to avert this scandal? Julian had a friend who on a certain night stood before a locked door with an officer of the law. His wife was on the other side of that door--with a companion in dishonor. The husband was armed. He was absolutely within his rights. They broke down the door. _And then_-- Not one of those tragic three could have told in advance what would happen when that door crashed in. As a matter of fact the woman alone was calm--coldly calm. "Yes," she said, "I am guilty. Now shoot! Why don't you shoot? You are afraid to shoot!" Which was true. The husband was afraid; and the lover was more afraid; it was the erring wife who cut the best figure. But who could have foreseen this denouement? * * * * * After all I only did those abominable things because I was ill--when I was not myself; whereas now I am well, and the evil has passed from me. Besides, I only showed that wicked side of my nature to Christopher, through my love; it is inconceivable that I could ever have acted that way with another man. Christopher knows that. He knows there is no possible doubt about that. How much difference does this knowledge make to him--I wonder. * * * * *