"Well, I may think so, too, but it's his life we're talking of. His tenure of that"--I looked at her steadily--"isn't very certain as it is, do you think? You know the condition of his heart--you've told me yourself--and as for his nervous system, we've only to look at his face and his poor eye." "I didn't do that. It's his whole life--" "But his whole life culminates in you. It works up to you, and you represent everything he values. When he learns that you've despised his love and dishonored his name--" Her foot tapped the floor impatiently. "You mustn't say things like that to me." "I'm only saying them, dear Mrs. Brokenshire, so that you'll know how they sound. It's what every one else will be saying in a day or two. You can't be what--what you'll be to-morrow, and still keep any one's respect. And so," I hurried on, as she was about to protest, "when he hears what you've done, you won't merely have broken his heart, you'll have killed him just as much as if you'd pulled out a revolver and shot him." She swung back to the window again. Her foot continued to tap the floor; her fingers twisted and untwisted like writhing living things. I could see her bosom rise and fall rapidly; her breath came in short, hard gasps. When I wasn't expecting it she rounded on me again, with flames in her eyes like those in a small tigress's. "You're saying all that to frighten me; but--" "I'm saying it because it's true. If it frightens you--" "But it doesn't." "Then I've done neither good nor harm." "I've a right to be happy." "Certainly, if you can be happy this way." "And I can." "Then there's no more to be said. We can only agree with you. If you can be happy when you've Mr. Brokenshire on your mind, as you must have whether he's alive or dead--and if you can be happy when you've desecrated all the things your people and your country look to a woman in your position to uphold--then I don't think any one will say you nay." "Well, why shouldn't I be happy?" she demanded, as if I was withholding from her something that was her right. "Other women--" "Yes, Mrs. Brokenshire, other women besides you have tried the experiment of Anna Karénina--" "What's that?" I gave her the gist of Tolstoi's romance--the woman who is married to an old man and runs away with a young one, living to see him weary of the position in which she places him, and dying by her own act. As she listened attentively, I went on before she could object to my parable. "It all amounts to the same thing. There's no happiness except in right; and no right that doesn't sooner or later--sooner rather than later--end in happiness. You've told me more than once you didn't believe that; and if you don't I can't help it."