“I _haven't_ deserted her,” Stefan retorted angrily. “I only came away for a holiday, and the rest just happened. I should have been home by now if I hadn't met Felicity. Oh, you don't understand,” he groaned, watching his friend's grieved, embarrassed face. “I'm fond of Mary--devoted to her--but you don't know what the monotony of marriage does to a man of my sort.” “No, I don't understand,” echoed his friend. “But now, Stefan,” and he brought his fist down on the table, “now you will go home, will you not, and try to make her happy?” “I don't think she will forgive this,” muttered Stefan. “This!” Adolph almost shouted. “This you will explain away, deny, so that it troubles her no more!” “Oh, rot, Adolph, I can't lie to Mary,” and Stefan began to pace the room once more. “For her sake, it seems to me you must,” his friend urged. “Stop talking, Adolph; I want to think!” Stefan exclaimed. He walked in silence for a minute. “No,” he said at last, “if my marriage is to go on, it must be on a basis of truth. I can't go back to Mary and act and live a lie. If she will have me back, she must know I've made some sacrifice to come, I'll go, if she says so, because I care for her, but I _can't_ go as a faithful, loving husband--it would be too grotesque.” “Consider her health, my friend,” implored Adolph, still with his bewildered, shocked air; “it might kill her!” “Can't! She's as strong as a horse--she can face the truth like a man.” “Then think of the other woman; you must protect her.” “Pshaw! she doesn't need protection! You don't know Felicity; she'd be just as likely as not to tell Mary herself.” “I always thought you so honorable, so generous,” Adolph murmured, dejectedly. “Oh, cut it, Adolph. I'm being as honorable and generous as I know how. I'll write to Mary now, and offer to come back if she says the word, and never see Felicity again. I can't do more.” He flung himself down at the desk, and snatched a pen.