"Yes--and I'd have blessed him if he had only done it!" she exclaimed. "But instead he sent a second letter casting me off finally. And then another--that whined and plead and threatened and sneered, and ended by leaving me in doubt what he meant to do. I didn't care, of course, but a woman likes to think of the man she married as strong enough to do something in such a crisis. She wants to respect the man she has left, so she can respect the other man more. And they both failed, Montague, they both failed miserably. Lorraine as a husband was poor enough, but Amherst was--beyond words. I came to despise him. You remember one day at Granger's, when I came in with him; and later I asked you how you liked him--you always spoke plainly to me, I think--and you said, 'He is a mongrel--a vicious mongrel'; and I was indignant, and left you abruptly--remember the episode? Well, _I've_ remembered it many times--for he has shown it. He _is_ a mongrel--a vicious mongrel, Montague. Had Harry Lorraine found us out then and even beaten him, I would have thrown my arms around my husband's neck for very joy. But he didn't. Instead of coming--he wrote!--_wrote_! Instead of descending as an avengeful Jove he indited epistles! Can you imagine anything more ridiculously absurd?" "No," said Pendleton, "I can't even imagine it--but different men, different minds, and different methods." "And Amherst was worse," she went on. "I know that you think I ought to have realized it before--I went off. I didn't--until it was too late. He is too immaculate--too nice--too everything. Most men can wear their clothes and be careful about their personal appearance without seeming to be--without obtruding it on their wives or mistresses. Amherst, I soon discovered, could not. That was the first thing to get on my nerves. Then his--habits began to grow natural and--disgusting. He is only veneered--and the veneer is very thin." She hesitated--flushed. "And he was a--brute.--A miserable brute, Montague--and the break came at last. We had quarrelled, and quarrelled, and quarrelled for months--every time longer and bitterer than the others. That last night it was dreadful, and I ran into another room and locked the door. I would leave him in the morning, I decided. I was at breakfast when he walked in and said: "'I'm going back to Mrs. Amherst. I advise you to go back to Lorraine, if he will take you. I sail from Cherbourg to-morrow. I have your transportation, if you wish to accompany me to New York.' "I positively laughed with joy. 'If Mrs. Amherst wants you she is welcome to you, heaven knows!' I answered. 'I'm charmed to be rid of you, nor will I trouble you for the transportation. I prefer henceforth to pay my own way, thank you!' "He wavered a moment--and hesitated. I ate my rolls and drank my coffee. Then he held out his hand. "'Good-bye!' he said. "'Good-bye!' I answered, and nodded as indifferently as I would to a chance acquaintance and just touched his fingers.