"When I married you," the man went on, "I gave you everything that a woman could desire--money, culture, a home. No thinking woman wants more than that. You chose to tell me that the life you led was dull and spiritless; that I was always with my books; that my friends did not interest you, and that you found their conversation tedious. I think once--it's an old forgotten thing, and I'm not quite sure about it--but I think once you told me that you had hoped for something else; I believe you said some foolish schoolgirl nonsense about love. Well, I gave you all I had to offer, and I fail to see how any reasonable woman could ask for more." "No, you never would understand that," she murmured behind her hands. "Then you made the acquaintance of this other man, a ne'er-do-weel, a child laughing in the sunshine, with no purpose in his life and no character in his face. But," he went on, sneeringly, "he was the pretty, empty-headed fool you wanted; he could quote rhymes to you, and fill your ears with things that had no substance in them--things such as every man has whispered to the woman he craves since the world first began. Well, you believed him; you caught at the shadow, and lost the substance. Now he's dead, you think you can come back here, as though nothing had happened." "I do not; I only want to see my baby. Give me but an hour with her; let me assure myself that she is well; let me see her only in her sleep if you will. I must see her; this hunger at my heart will drive me mad." "It has not driven you mad before," he said, with a laugh. "No, I tried to forget; _he_ made me forget. Oh, don't you understand that a woman may be righteous even in her sin; that she may cling to a man sinfully sometimes, just because she has promised? It is too late in the day now for us to blame each other, or for me to attempt to justify myself. Only believe that I have left all that old unhappiness behind. John, you will let me see her?" "How did you find out where I was?" asked the man, after a pause. "I went to the old home and found that you had left. I made fruitless inquiries for a long time, and at last, quite by accident, happened upon some one who had seen you in this town. I came here yesterday and got a quiet lodging, and set about to look for you. Indeed"--as the man made an impatient gesture--"indeed, I have not come to trouble you again; I will go away, and you shall not see me any more." The man appeared to be thinking deeply. After a long pause, during which she looked at him appealingly, with her hands tightly clasped, he spoke, going first to the door, and assuring himself that it was shut.