“Understand me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I would not ask any pledges of you. I would pay whatever price there was to pay—I am not afraid to suffer.” “I do not wish you to suffer,” he said. “I do not wish to take advantage of any woman.” “But I have nothing in the world that I value!” she cried. “I would go away—I would give up everything, to be with a man like you. I have no ties—no duties—” He interrupted her. “You have your husband—” he said. And she cried out in sudden fury—“My husband!” “Has no one ever told you about my husband?” she asked, after a pause. “No one,” he said. “Well, ask them!” she exclaimed. “Meantime, take my word for it—I owe nothing to my husband.” Montague sat staring into the fire. “But consider my own case,” he said. “_I_ have duties—my mother and my cousin—” “Oh, don’t say any more!” cried the woman, with a break in her voice. “Say that you don’t love me—that is all there is to say! And you will never respect me again! I have been a fool—I have ruined everything! I have flung away your friendship, that I might have kept!” “No,” he said. But she rushed on, vehemently—“At least, I have been honest—give me credit for that! That is how all my troubles come—I say what is in my mind, and I pay the price for my blunders. It is not as if I were cold and calculating—so don’t despise me altogether.” “I couldn’t despise you,” said Montague. “I am simply pained, because I have made you unhappy. And I did not mean to.” Mrs. Winnie sat staring ahead of her in a sombre reverie. “Don’t think any more about it,” she said, bitterly. “I will get over it. I am not worth troubling about. Don’t you suppose I know how you feel about this world that I live in? And I’m part of it—I beat my wings, and try to get out, but I can’t. I’m in it, and I’ll stay in till I die; I might as well give up. I thought that I could steal a little joy—you have no idea how hungry I am for a little joy! You have no idea how lonely I am! And how empty my life is! You talk about your fear of making me unhappy; it’s a grim jest—but I’ll give you permission, if you can! I’ll ask nothing—no promises, no sacrifices! I’ll take all the risks, and pay all the penalties!” She smiled through her tears, a sardonic smile. He was watching her, and she turned again, and their eyes met; again he saw the blood mount from her throat to her cheeks. At the same time came the old stirring of the wild beasts within him. He knew that the less time he spent in sympathizing with Mrs. Winnie, the better for both of them. He had started to rise, and words of farewell were on his lips; when suddenly there came a knock upon the door. Mrs. Winnie sprang to her feet. “Who is that?” she cried. And the door opened, and Mr. Duval entered. “Good evening,” he said pleasantly, and came toward her. Mrs. Winnie flushed angrily, and stared at him. “Why do you come here unannounced?” she cried. “I apologize,” he said—“but I found this in my mail—”