“The boats don't amount to much,” he said to Madge, as he helped her down the bank, “but I guess we can have a good time, anyhow.” She did not reply to this, but there was a sparkle in her eyes and a flush on her cheek, as she stepped lightly into the boat, that drew an admiring glance from Beveridge. He took the clumsy oars, and pulled upstream, under the railroad bridge, past all the other boats, on into the farming country, where the banks were green and shaded. “Pretty nice, isn't it?” said he. She nodded. They could hear the music in the distance, and occasionally the voices; but around them was nothing but the cool depths of an oak copse. She was half reclining in the stern, looking lazily at the dim muscular outlines of her oarsman. “You row well,” she said. “I ought to. I was brought up on water.” “You don't know how this takes me back,” said Madge, dreamily. “I couldn't tell you how long it is since I have been out in the country like this.” He pulled a few strokes before replying, “Didn't McGlory ever take you out?” “I don't like to think about him now. Let's talk of something else.” “I'm glad you don't like to. That's the only thing that bothers me.” “What--Joe?” “Yes.” “Oh, he needn't bother you.” “I can't help it. You see, you're--” “His wife? Yes, so I am. But I'm--” “What, Madge?” “I don't know what you would think if I said it.” “Say it, please.” She glanced into his face. He saw with surprise that her eyes were shining. “Well--I was--going to say--that--that--I'm about through with him.” “Do you mean that, Madge?” She was silent; perhaps she had not meant to say so much. “Has he been ugly to you?” “It isn't his meanness altogether. If that were all, I could have stood it. I have tried hard enough to love him all the while. Even after he first struck me--” “You don't mean--” She smiled, half bitterly, and rolled her sleeve up above her elbow. Even in that faint light he could see the discoloration on her forearm. “He meant it for my head,” she said. “Why, he's a brute.” She smiled again. “Didn't you know that a woman can love a brute? It wasn't that. Even when he made me live in the saloon, and when I found out what his business really was--” she paused. “I was brought up a little better than this, you know.” “Yes, I have always thought that.” “And when I learned that he wasn't--well, honest, I don't believe I should have cared very much.” “Oh, I guess he is not dishonest, is he?” “He is bad enough, I'm afraid. He--I don't know--I don't believe it would do any good to tell you--” “No, don't, if you'd rather not, Madge.” “I don't care--I'd just as soon. You don't know what a relief it is to have somebody I can talk out with. I have guarded my tongue so long. And I suppose, even after all that is past, that if he hadn't left me--” “You don't mean that he has gone?”