“I must. He shall not drag your name through the mud of the courts. I should be a hound to allow it.” “What can you do?” “Prove to him where I was that night. I was in a woman’s company--not in her arms, thank God. You are the first living soul to whom I have avowed it. Both of you shall know her name and the reason of my silence.” “No, no, for God’s sake, no!” cried Irene again. He stopped short, checked in his outburst by her tone, and the intense earnestness of her face. “Why not?” “Do you think I could accept his--apologies?” “He would make reparation.” “I will not have any. If his knowledge of me--of the love that I bore him--was not sufficient to clear me in his eyes, do you think it would be other than humiliation to me that he should be convinced by outside proof?” “I enter only too deeply into your feelings, Irene. But it will put a stop to this unholy action. Do you suppose I can rest, while it is hanging over you?” “Listen, Hugh,” she said with a half smile. “Sit down and let us talk quietly. We have been on the emotional strain too long. I don’t want this action stopped. I blessed the instinct that made you come to me first--so that I could tell you. I have never seen any transcendental sacredness in marriage. You know that well enough. I regard it as the social sanction of a man and woman living together. I would not live with Gerard again for all the world. It would also be his last desire. This is a blessed chance of sundering our lives, legally, for ever. There are no children to be considered. What public dishonour the divorce court can bring upon a woman is mine already, I have nothing to lose, Hugh, and all to gain.” “What have you to gain?” “My liberty. My own life.” “Remember that society awards less penalty to the forgiven wife than to the divorced one.” “I want no patronage of society,” she flashed out spiritedly. “I am not a repentant Magdalene.” There was a long silence. Hugh lay back in his chair, his cheek supported by his hand, his brows knit in stern thought. She sat in more feminine attitude, slightly leaning forward, her eyes fixed on the simpering imitation Watteau group on the fire-screen. Suddenly she spoke, without diverting her glance. “I was acting when I saw you last. It was an effort to be calm. Now I am genuine.”