'Oh, good God! I haven't patience with all this hair-splitting nonsense. Brotherly husbands who run away with other girls, and beg you to divorce them; sisterly wives who forgive them and stick to them against their will....' He suddenly stopped, and held out his hand. 'Forgive me, Edith. I believe whatever you say is right. Will you forgive me?' 'You see, it's chiefly on account of the children. If it weren't for them I _would_ take advantage of this to be happy with you. At least--no--I'm not sure that I would; not if I thought it would be Bruce's ruin.' 'And you don't think I'd be good to the children?' 'Good? I know you would be an angel to them! But what's the use? I tell you I can't do it.' 'I won't tease you, I won't worry you any more,' he said, in a rather broken voice. 'At any rate, think what a terrible blow this is to me. You show me the chance of heaven, then you voluntarily dash it away. Don't you think you ought to consult someone? You have asked no-one?' 'I have consulted _you_,' she said, with a slight smile. 'You take no notice of what I say.' 'As a matter of fact, I don't wish to consult anyone. I have made my own decision. I have written my letter.' She took it out of her bag. It was directed to Bruce, at the address he had given her in Australia. 'I suppose you won't let me read it?' he said sadly. 'I think I'd rather not,' she said. Terribly hurt, he turned to the door. 'No--no, you shall read it!' she exclaimed. 'But don't say anything, make no remark about it. You shall read it because I trust you, because I really care for you.' 'Perhaps I oughtn't to,' he said. 'No, dear; keep it to yourself.' His delicacy had revived and he was ashamed of his jealousy. But now she insisted on showing it to him, and he read: 'DEAR BRUCE,