"Plenty of warning, yes--in the light of the after events. But no warning whatever on the basis of trust and confidence. I never thought of your being _crooked_, until you proved it before all the world." "Just so!" she exclaimed. "I proved it before all the world--which think you is worse: the woman who does, or the husband who through blindness or indifference suffers another man to rob him of his wife before his very eyes?" "The wife who is worthless is never missed!" he retorted. "Then what quarrel have you for my going?" she demanded, "more than hurt vanity?" "It's not your going--it's your coming back that irritates me." "Irritates!" she laughed. "I am sorry to have irritated you--sorry to have irritated one so childish. It may affect your mind, Mr. Lorraine." "If my mind has survived the last two years, I think it can survive a trifle more. Nevertheless," he sneered, "I am deeply sensible of the consideration you would show me." "What are you going to do about it?" she asked sharply. "I don't quite follow your train of thought," he answered. "Of course not--it was dreadfully involved," she mocked. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Lorraine. I meant what are you going to do now that I _have_ returned--divorce me?" "Yes--divorce you," he answered bluntly. "And without delay?" "As quickly as the Courts can cut us asunder." "I am glad," she said. "I rather feared you might make overtures for a reconciliation." "A reconciliation?" he exclaimed incredulously. She nodded. "You seem uncertain of your own mind--your letters, you know, were rather childish and vacillating." "I know my own mind now, thank God," he answered, his voice tense. "If I didn't know it before, it was because your beauty had befuddled it into imbecility. Oh! you may smile, with all the assumed credulity you can muster, but nevertheless you know in your own heart that I speak the truth. I _did_ love you--loved every part of you, from your glorious hair to your slender arched feet. Loved your proud, cold face, that can glow warm enough upon occasion--I've seen it glow for me--and often; and your lips that were made for kisses--and your arms--and your flawless shoulders, white as marble, and soft as----" Her derisive laugh broke in on him. "Be careful, sir, or the recollection of my charms may cause you to change your mind _again_," she cautioned. For a space he was silent. And she was silent, too--waiting. At last he spoke, slowly and deliberately. "No," he said; "the time when you held me by a smile and a nod has passed. You are just as beautiful, just as alluring, but your body is soiled with the touch of another's hands. Your lips, your hair, your arms, your shoulders--everything--have all been defiled by Amherst's caresses, and by yours." "Am I then so polluted?" she queried. "At least," slowly stretching out her lithe limbs and looking herself over, "I see no trace of it--neither do I feel it in me."