"There is nothing else to be done. I have worn out her patience, and she has worn out mine. Be kind to her; and when you have an opportunity, say a kind word for me." Far into the morning they talked, and then Antony drove to the station, and went his lonely way, too miserable to think of adieus, too ashamed and heart-broken to bear more, either of advice or consolation. Harry watched his thin, sorrowful face out of sight; and at the last moment lifted his hat to so much departing love and worth. Then he drove as fast as his horse could take him to the Filmer place. Rose had awakened from her sleep, and had had her breakfast. She was miserable in all her being. Her head ached; her heart ached. She was humiliated and chagrined, and the thought of Antony haunted her and would not let her rest. Also the house was miserable. Everything was waiting on Antony. Some of the things to be taken to the city were already packed; others were lying on the chairs and tables, and the servants were each and all taking their own ill way about affairs. Rose could think of nothing but an order to let the packing alone until Mr. Van Hoosen returned; but there was a most unsettled feeling through the house, and she was quite aware nothing was being done that ought to be done. She was greatly relieved to see Harry coming. Harry was the one member of her family whom she regarded. He had not offended in the Duval matter, and so it was generally through Harry she was influenced to do what was required of her. But this morning Harry gave her back no smile; he did not answer her greeting, and when she offered her hand, he put it crossly away. "Rose," he said, "you have managed to behave abominably for a long time. But your conduct last night is unpardonable. If you were my wife I would shut you up in a madhouse until you put your senses above your temper." "Thanks! I am not your wife, I am happy to say. No one but the divine Adriana could----" "Stop your foolish chatter! You have driven your husband from you, at last. Now I hope you are satisfied." "So he has gone, has he? And pray, where has my lord gone?" "To Arizona." "I am glad he has gone so far." "Now, madam, you will have to fight the world without him. There is not a decent woman who will notice you." "What have I done wrong? And I do not believe Antony has gone. He will come trailing home to-night." "He will not. And as to what you have done wrong, if there were nothing against you but that Duval affair it shuts you out of society."