“How could I expect it to be different? Isn’t it always the same--always, always?” she repeated passionately. “Love doesn’t last; it can’t. And there were so many temptations; and then the excitement of conquest, and the vanity of wishing to show him I could still charm others, though he seemed to think I had no right to try. But it was all so false, so--so foolish. If he had only trusted, if he had only spoken gently, kindly--as he used to speak! And then that hateful woman, that French serpent--fiend--adventuress. Heavens! how I hated her; how I hate her still. If I thought he cared, _really_ cared--if I thought he had ever held her to his heart--kissed her as he used to kiss me--if--oh! I could _kill_ her!” She broke off abruptly, pressing her hand to her heart, while the blood rushed in a crimson torrent to her face. “Oh! he can’t!” she moaned, throwing herself face downward on the cushions of the couch. “And yet I believed it--once; and I’ve never even let any man’s lips touch my hand; never, with all my whims and follies and vagaries, allowed myself to forget that I am Frank’s wife. But he doesn’t care any longer. How could I expect it? And yet if he had only spoken one word to-day--one little word, I would have thrown myself at his feet and said, ‘O Frank, I love you--I’ve never ceased loving you. Oh! take me back and let us forget all this miserable mistake.’ Frank!” She raised her head and shook back the rich, soft hair impatiently, and stretched longing arms out to the empty silence. “Frank,” she whispered more loudly, “why don’t you come to me? Why don’t you feel I want you as--as surely--sometimes--you want me. Frank----” She rose unsteadily, supporting herself by one hand that rested on the back of the couch. Her face had grown strangely white, her eyes had a look of intensity that spoke of strained mental force. “If I dared go to him,” she said, still in that strange whisper. “I’ve never said I was wrong--or--or sorry, but I am, Frank--God knows I am. Don’t drive me desperate; I’m too unhappy and too reckless to be always patient. But if you swear you never loved any other woman, Frank, I--I will swear I never loved or thought of any man save you. Never, dear heart--never.” Still with that strained look, intense and far off as that of a sleepwalker, still with face deathlike in its rigid whiteness, she moved across the room. The loose shower of hair seemed to annoy her by its weight. She paused an instant before the table and took up a curious-looking silver dagger. Then, hastily twisting the hair into a thick coil, she fastened it with the dagger and turned toward the door. * * * * *