"I’m leaving you because we have nothing in common except our physical attraction. And that is mostly physical repulsion now, as you see." "Haven’t you one spark of love for me left?" "Claude, with all your faults I love you still," she replied, smiling, as she rallied her self-command. He relapsed into his seat, utterly overwhelmed. Deeply moved, she went over to his side, and looked at him with a pang of remorse. He edged away from her with a passionate sense of injury. "Remember," he warned her, "if you leave me, that will end everything. Society may ostracize you, or toss you back into the gutter. Don’t ask me to lift a finger." The friendly words froze on her lips. She quietly resumed packing. He sprang up, beside himself, his whole person vibrating with his fury. "If you’re going, you needn’t wait until tomorrow!" he said, drawing in his breath. "You can go now, for all I care." He walked to the window, his teeth clenched and his body set. While she hastily assembled the rest of her most necessary things, he was saying to himself: "This damned idea of independence! She thinks she can frighten me. She thinks I won’t let her go. I’ll call the bluff, and she’ll come back flying." All this on a horrible quicksand of doubt. But she saw only his hostile back and heard only the echo of his savage tones. How like her mother he was! Without a word, she picked up her bag and went out. *CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE* *I* A sedan drove up to M. St. Hilaire’s house in the _Quartier Leopold_. The young lady who got out was met at the door by a girl of fourteen who enfolded her in affectionate embraces. "Oh, what a slow poke!" cried the girl reproachfully. "You were gone for ever and ever, Jeanette!" "Two hours and ten minutes, Henrietta," said Janet looking at her wrist watch, "is pretty short measure for eternity. I’m glad you’re not my butcher or baker." Henriette grimaced. They went upstairs together, the girl’s arm tightly clasping her companion’s waist. Henriette St. Hilaire was a lovely girl, lithe and slender. Her fair hair was bobbed and her eyes were the soft blue eyes of the North. She complained again of the dull time she had had. "Serve you right for having a headache when I left," said Janet. "According to Herbert Spencer, if I went out for a drive by myself every time you had one, your headaches would soon disappear." "Mine has gone already. Show me all you bought, Janski. May I open the parcels?" "Yes, one by one." For Henriette was recklessly attacking strings and wrappers, to the great peril of the contents. Among the parcels undid was one containing a book. She read out the title: "Tom, Dick and Harry." "What’s this?" "That’s a book of light reading for a young lady well advanced in the English language."