"You! How could you come to see me as you have, and you married?" She spoke tremulously, fiercely, and at the last her voice broke into a sob. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she did not heed them. Tom's face dropped back into his hands; he could not stand the awful accusation of that gaze. She was another victim of his tragedy, an innocent victim--and _his_ victim. He saw in a flash the whole ghastly part he, in ignorance, had played. A groan burst from his lips, and he writhed in his self-abasement. "How could you do it?" he heard her fiercely demand again. "Oh, you! you!" He heard her sweep across the little room, and then sweep back; and he knew she was standing before him, gazing down at him in anguish, anger, contempt. He groaned again. "What can I say to you--what?" There was silence. He could feel her eyes, unchanging, still on him. Presently he began to speak into his hands, in a low, broken voice. "I can make no excuse. I don't know that I can explain. But I never intended to do this. Never! Never! "You know how we met, how we came to be together the first two or three times. Afterwards ... I said awhile ago that you were my best friend. I have had few real friends--none but you who sympathized with me, who seemed to understand me. Well, afterwards I came because--I never stopped to think why I came. I guess because you understood, and I liked you. And so I came. As a man might come to see a good man friend. And I never once thought I was doing wrong. And I never thought of my wife--that is, you understand, that she made it wrong for me to see you. I never thought----If you believe in me at all, you must believe this. You must! And then--one day--I saw you with another man, and I knew I loved you. I awoke. I saw what I ought to do. I tried to do it--but it was very hard--and I came to see you again--the last time. I said once more I would not see you again. It was still hard, very hard--but I did not. And then--your letter--came----" His words dwindled away. Then, after a moment, he said very humbly: "Perhaps I don't just understand how to be a gentleman." Again silence. Presently he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He raised his eyes. She was still gazing at him, her face very white, but no anger in it. "I understand," she said. He rose--weak. "I can't ask that you forgive me." "No. Not now." "Of course. I have meant to you only grief--pain. And can mean only that to you, always." She did not deny his words. "Of course," he agreed. Then he stood, without words, unmoving. "You had better go," she said at length. He took his hat mechanically. "The future?" "You were right." "You mean--we should not meet again?" "This is the last time." Again he stood silent, unmoving. "You had better go," she said. "Good-night." "Good-night." He moved sideways to the door, his eyes never leaving her. He paused. She stood just as she had since she had touched his shoulder. He moved back to her, as in a trance.