"Divorce him," Nick implored. "You've got cause." "He's Italian," she answered. "So am I, as his wife, in the eyes of the law. He and his people don't recognize divorce, even if I----" "But here----" Nick began, then stopped, and shut his lips together. No, he would not propose that. Angela guessed what he had wanted to say, and loved him better for not saying it. "I used to think," she went on hastily, "that I knew the worst of being married to a man without love. But now I see I didn't know half. A woman can't know till she loves another man. Oh, Nick, I can't get on without you--not _quite_ without you. I've been trying--and every day it grows harder instead of easier. Nothing _matters_--but you. I'm not Paolo di Sereno's real wife, and he hates me. So it's not wrong to love you, Nick, or for you to love me. Only, we--we----" "You don't have to get on without me," said Nick. "My angel one, you needn't be frightened. Wait till I tell you. I'll go away--this minute if you tell me to. I'll do whatever you say, because what you say will be right for _you_, and that's the important thing. What I mean is--I'm always there. My love can't change, except to grow bigger and brighter--and make me more of a man--so you won't have to worry about hurting _me_. Once I told you we couldn't be friends, but now I know you better, and what you've got in your heart for me--and what stands between us--I take that back. A friend can worship his friend. I worship you. I _will_ be your friend, angel, in the biggest sense of the word." "Oh, thank you, Nick," she cried. "Thank you a thousand times. Now I can live again--just thinking--as you say--that you're _there_. The world can't be blank. But you must go. I--I don't think I could bear this long, and keep true--to myself--and----" It was the same with Nick. He had felt that he could not bear this long and be true either to himself or to her. Yet he would have stayed if she had bidden him stay, and fought for his manhood against odds. "Am I to go--now?" he asked. "Yes--oh, please, yes!" she begged him, holding out her hands. "I am keyed up to bear it now. It might be different later. But--let us write to each other, Nick. I'll write little things every day--that I think and feel. Then, if they're worthy, I'll send them to you--once a month or so. Will you do the same?" "Yes." "And you'll take care of yourself--for me--won't you?" He could not answer in words. He crushed her hands against his lips, and then, turning from her abruptly, walked away, without looking back. * * * * *