“No,” replied I, in a tone that made it impossible to insist. “We appreciate your kindness, but we've imposed on it enough.” And I shook hands with her and with Allie and the minister, and, linking Joe's arm in mine, made for the door. I gave the necessary directions to my chauffeur while we were waiting for Anita to come down the steps. Joe's daughter was close beside her, and they kissed each other good-by, Alva on the verge of tears, Anita not suggesting any emotion of any sort. “To-morrow--sure,” Anita said to her. And she answered: “Yes, indeed--as soon as you telephone me.” And so we were off, a shower of rice rattling on the roof of the brougham--the slatternly man-servant had thrown it from the midst of the group of servants. Neither of us spoke. I watched her face without seeming to do so, and by the light of occasional street lamps saw her studying me furtively. At last she said: “I wish to go to my uncle's now.” “We are going home,” said I. “But the house will be shut up,” said she, “and every one will be in bed. It's nearly midnight. Besides, they might not--” She came to a full stop. “We are going--home,” I repeated. “To the Willoughby.” She gave me a look that was meant to scorch--and it did. But I showed at the surface no sign of how I was wincing and shrinking. She drew farther into her corner, and out of its darkness came, in a low voice: “How I _hate_ you!” like the whisper of a bullet. I kept silent until I had control of myself. Then, as if talking--of a matter that had been finally and amicably settled, I began: “The apartment isn't exactly ready for us, but Joe's just about now telephoning my man that we are coming, and telephoning your people to send your maid down there.” “I wish to go to my uncle's,” she repeated. “My wife will go with me,” said I quietly and gently. “I am considerate of _her_, not of her unwise impulses.” A long pause, then from her, in icy calmness: “I am in your power just now. But I warn you that, if you do not take me to my uncle's, you will wish you had never seen me.” “I've wished that many times already,” said I sadly. “I've wished it from the bottom of my heart this whole evening, when step by step fate has been forcing me on to do things that are even more hateful to me than to you. For they not only make me hate myself, but make you hate me, too.” I laid my hand on her arm and held it there, though she tried to draw away. “Anita,” I said, “I would do anything for you--live for you, die for you. But there's that something inside me--you've felt it; and when it says 'must,' I can't disobey--you know I can't. And, though you might break my heart, you could not break that will. It's as much my master as it is yours.” “We shall see--to-morrow,” she said.