“We will make it as short as possible. What I said last night must remain, whatever be the suffering. I have loved you deeply--like a young man--in a way perhaps ill befitting my years. The memories, for they are innocent, will always be there, Yvonne. If I did not seek strength from Elsewhere, it might wreck my life to part from you.” Her hope was dashed to the ground. She interrupted him with one more appeal. “Why need we part, Everard?” she said, in a low voice. “I mean, why cannot we live in the same house--before the world--?” “It is impossible,” he replied. “You don’t know what you are asking.” His voice grew husky. He paused a few seconds, then, recovering himself continued in the same hard tones:-- “As we must live apart, it is my duty to make provision for you. I shall alter my will, securing to you what would have come to you as my wife. During my lifetime I shall make you an allowance in fair proportion to my means. And it will be, of course, unconditional.” Then, for the first time, her gentle nature rose up in revolt against him. “I could not accept it, Everard,” she cried with kindling cheeks. “If I have no right to bear your name I have no right to your support. Don’t ask me to take it, for I can’t.” “Yvonne, listen to me--” “No,” she went on passionately, “I am speaking as a woman now; the time has come, and you were right in your prophecy--I would sooner die than live away from you and be supported by you. You don’t understand--it is as if I had done something shameful and you were putting me away from you. Oh, don’t speak of it,--don’t speak of it. If I am not your wife before God, I have no claims on you.” “To hear you speak like that pains me intensely,” he said. “Do you think I have lost all regard for you?” “If you loved me, you would not wish to part from me,” said Yvonne with her terrible logic. They were on different planes of thought and feeling. The Canon argued, insisted, but to no purpose. Yvonne was inconvincible. The talk continued, drifted away for a time to arrangements for the immediate future. A reply telegram came from Geraldine Vicary, to the effect that she would be with Yvonne in the morning. It was settled that Yvonne should stay with her provisionally, and that she, in order to avoid painful meetings and communications, should be Yvonne’s agent in the necessary settlement of affairs. Finally, the Canon returned to the subject of the allowance. He would settle a certain sum upon her, whether she would accept it or not. Yvonne flashed again into rebellion. The idea was hateful to her. He had no right to make her lose her self-respect. “But it is my solemn duty that I must perform. Will nothing I can say ever make you understand?” he exclaimed at last, in exasperation. Yvonne rose and came to where he sat, and laid her hand upon his shoulder with an action full of tenderness, and looked down upon him with her wistful dark eyes, all the more wistful for the rings beneath them.