Cutter had some such sensation as this, confused but devastating. He was determined to be free, to be no longer bound to this woman who ceased to appeal to him and who did not belong to the world he had won by success. But how was this? She had turned the tables on him. She was not only taking him at his word; she was dismissing him. I do not say that it is a queer thing about a man of this quality, but it is one of the abortive characteristics of every man of this quality, that he has a dog-in-the-manger instinct always toward the wife he discards. He expects her to remain cravenly faithful to him, to love and cherish him tearfully and patiently while he takes a whiff around, because, heaven bless us, isn’t that the nature of good and chaste women? It was. And yet here was Helen, instantly assuming the autonomous attitude of a free state. She was making no effort to hold him or save him. Hang it all, a man never could understand a woman! Here he was standing before his discarded wife, having done the best he could for her, divided his fortune with her, released her from her normal duties to him, while he might have kept this property and lived as he pleased. And in spite of all this, he was made to feel strangely humiliated, worthless and unspeakable to her. This was what her look and manner meant. Good heaven, he could not slink off defeated like this! He had meant to go with his head up, not diminished. The sting of that would interfere with his pleasure, and he had made expensive plans for a gratifying existence in New York. “What I want, Helen,” he began after this tumultuous pause, speaking in the husband tone of voice, “is a sensible understanding, not a breach. I have provided for you as my wife should be provided for. If you should ever need my help or protection--” “You have barely time to make your train,” she interrupted, glancing at the clock and keeping her eye now on this clock. Her voice was not that of a wife, but of a lady, speaking probably to some agent whom she was determined to get out of the house before he sold her something she did not want and could not use. “Oh, very well, if you won’t be reasonable!” he exclaimed as he strode flashily past her. But when he reached the door he halted, looked back at her like an actor being put out of the scene and required by his lines to pause, show indecision, the fangs of his outraged emotions to the appreciative audience. But there was no audience to witness Cutter’s histrionic exit; only this neat, cool, little star of a lady with flaming cheeks, whose eyes remained resolutely upon the face of the clock.