The meaningless contact of their hands was over, and still neither had spoken. She was looking at him questioningly. The silence appeared silly; there was, and there could be, no emotion to justify, to transfigure it. He spoke. "How do you do?" he said. She drew a deep breath, and lifted her eyebrows slightly. "Won't you sit down?" she said; "you are looking just like you used to." She had the tiniest lisp; once it had used to charm him. "You, too, are quite your old self," he said. Then there was a pause. "Aren't you going to say anything?" she said. "It was you who sent for me," said he. "Yes." "Why did you?" "I wanted to see you." She opened her pretty child-eyes at him, and he noted, only to bitterly resent, the appeal in them. He remembered that old appealing look too well. "No, Madam," he said inwardly, "not again! You can't whistle the dog to heel at your will and pleasure. I was a fool once, but I'm not fool enough to play the fool with Benoliel's wife." Aloud he said, smiling-- "I suppose you did, or you would not have written. And now what can I do for you?" She leaned forward to look at him. "Then you really have forgotten? You didn't grieve for me long! You used to say you would never leave off loving me as long as you lived." "My dear Mrs. Benoliel," he said, "if I ever said anything so thoughtless as that, I certainly _have_ forgotten it." "Very well," she said; "then go!" This straight hitting embarrassed him mortally. "But," he said, "I've not forgotten that you and I were once friends for a little while, and I do beg you to consider me as a friend. Let me help you. You must have some need of a friend's services, or you would not have sent for me. I assure you I am entirely at your commands. Come, tell me how I can help you--" "You can't help me at all," she said hopelessly, "nobody can now." "I've heard--I hope you'll forgive me for saying so--I've heard that your married life has been--hasn't been--" "My married life has been hell," she said; "but I don't want to talk about that. I deserved it all." "But, my dear lady, why not get a divorce or, at least, a separation? My services--anything I can do to advise or--" She sprang from her chair and knelt beside him. "Oh, how _could_ you think that of me? How could you? He's dead--Benoliel's dead. I thought you'd understand that by my sending to you. Do you think I'd ever have seen you again as long as _he_ was alive? I'm not a wicked woman, dear, I'm only a fool." She had caught the hand that lay on the arm of his chair, her face was pressed on it, and on it he could feel her tears and her kisses.