Prone upon her bed she lay, torturing herself by a thousand self-reproaches, and by a perpetual memory of that last look of pained amazement with which her lover had regarded her. She could not put it from her, it seemed to have exorcised every other memory of his face. With heartbroken sobs she sent after him one cry, “Forgive me! Oh, Leonard, forgive me!” But the void between them swallowed it up in silence. There was nothing to be done. The long, long days and years before her held only frustrate longings and despair. This reflection came to her as a finality, and she ceased weeping and protesting and lay dumb and passive like a child smitten by a power it can neither appease nor comprehend. Her mother found her in this mood, and when Sappha said, “I cannot come to dinner to-day, I am in trouble. Annette told me things about Leonard, and I have sent him away forever!” the mother understood and was full of pity. “Do not try to come down, dear,” she answered. “As soon as your father goes out, I will return to you.” “Are you better, mother? Are you able to attend to father?” “Yes, yes, I am well again. Ah, me, there is always sorrow at somebody’s heart!” “It is my own fault, mother. Leonard is not to blame. I will tell you--after a little while.” Then Mrs. Bloommaert went with a heavy heart to serve the dinner; for whether heads are aching or hearts breaking dinner is a fact that cannot be excused. She was full of anxious thought as she went about the table, placing sauces, condiments, and wines, and arranging the small details which always pleased her husband. He had been depressed and angry concerning Leonard Murray’s conduct for some days, and she wondered how the news of Sappha’s dismissal of the young man would affect him. Contrary to all expectation he entered the house in high spirits. He was delighted to find his wife better, and able to give him her company and sympathy; and as soon as they were alone he began to talk to her about Leonard in a manner full of pride and satisfaction. Nor was he much dashed by the information that there had been a quarrel between the lovers, and a final separation. “Final separation!” he repeated, with an incredulous laugh. “Nonsense. That is a regular climax to a love fever. They will be more devoted than ever in a week’s time. Tell her what I have just told you, and they will be friends in half an hour.” “I fear not. Leonard has shown wonderful patience so far, but my father used to say ‘beware the anger of a patient man’; for when once his patience has given way, his anger is not to be pacified.” “All foolishness, Carlita. Go and tell Sappha everything. I promised to meet St. Ange about three o’clock; you see I have not any time to spare now.” “I do not know what Annette said to Sappha--something ill-natured, no doubt; but I wonder St. Ange did not give her strict orders to keep her tongue quiet about this business.”