He became grave and stern in a moment, struck by the utter conviction in her tone. “What for? Because you don’t care for me? Why should you? I have made a mistake, that’s all!” He turned away impatiently, possessed for the moment by the mere surface irritation of the man who has been refused. “No, no, not that! Oh, I adore you!” She laid frantic hold on the lapel of his coat. He covered her hand with his. “What then? How nervous you are! What can it be?” He laughed. “You are not going to tell me that you are married already, I suppose?” “Yes, yes, that’s just it. I am!” There was a pause. Then-- “I said it in joke. Do you mean to say that you are not joking?” “No, no, I wish I were. I have deceived you shamefully.” He stared at her, then he sat down heavily on the chair by the table in front of his work. He looked a little bewildered and very angry. “Shall I tell you all?” “Oh, yes, if you care to--not that it concerns me now.” He idly picked up his brush, charged with colour as it was, and let it fall full on the drawing in front of him. She caught his hands. “Oh, don’t, don’t spoil your drawing because of me! And listen to me, for it does concern you, since I love you, and you say that you love me. I must tell you, I must explain what I have done. Oh, don’t look at me so! You were my lover a moment ago, and now you are my judge.” “A woman has no right to let a man---- ” “No, I know she hasn’t. I ought not to have let you tell me that you cared for me. But I am so glad you did! It will be something to remember afterwards. I must tell you my story--my true story! I told you once, you remember, the story of Phœbe Elles--the woman who left her husband, because he was so unkind to her---- ” “Oh, so that is your story, is it? And the one you told me about yourself--your pretended self---- ” “That I invented. I had to tell you something---- ” He rose from his chair. She went on--“Oh, forgive me, forgive me! I have not told you the truth---- ” “So it seems!” he replied, coldly, opening the door, and going out. “Good-night.” * * * * * She was left alone, with the worst of all scourges that a woman may have to suffer, that of reading in the eyes of the man she loves the expression of the scorn, deserved or undeserved, that he bears her. * * * * * For a long time she sat there, in this little narrow room that had framed all her brief happiness, half stunned by the judgment that had been passed on her, and also by the shock of self-revelation that went with it. She felt mean, as well as miserable.