out its gravity until it frightens you.
That's the simple explanation of your trouble. In a week--perhaps in a
day or two--it will have passed. Just wait. Don't think of it. Put your
marriage--put me--quite out of your mind. I won't remind you of my
existence for--let us say before next Sunday. Now, is it agreed?"

"I should be dishonest if I pretended to agree."

"But--don't you think you owe it to me to give what I suggest a fair
trial?"

The words were trenchant, the tone was studiously soft. Irene strung
herself for contest, hoping it would come quickly and undisguised.

"I owe you much. I have done you a great injustice. But waiting will do
no good. I know my mind at last. I see what is possible and what
impossible."

"Do you imagine, Irene, that I can part with you on these terms? Do you
really think I could shake hands, and say good-bye, at this stage of
our relations?"

"What can I do?" Her voice, kept low, shook with emotion. "I confess an
error--am I to pay for it with my life?"

"I ask you only to be just to yourself as well as to me. Let three days
go by, and see me again."

She seemed to reflect upon it. In truth she was debating whether to
persevere in honesty, or to spare her nerves with dissimulation. A
promise to wait three days would set her free forthwith; the temptation
was great. But something in her had more constraining power.

"If I pretended to agree, I should be ashamed of myself. I should have
passed from error into baseness. You would have a right to despise me;
as it is, you have only a right to be angry."

As though the word acted upon his mood, Arnold sprang forward from the
chair, fell upon one knee close beside her, and grasped her hands.
Irene instinctively threw herself back, looking frightened; but she did
not attempt to rise. His face was hot-coloured, his eyes shone
unpleasantly; but before he spoke, his lips parted in a laugh.

"Are you one of the women," he said, "who have to be conquered? I
didn't think so. You seemed so reasonable."

"Do you dream of conquering a woman who cannot love you?"

"I refuse to believe it. I recall your own words."

He made a movement to pass one arm about her waist.

"No! After what I have said----!"

Her hands being free, she sprang up and broke away from him. Arnold
rose more slowly, his look lowered with indignation. Eyes bent on the
ground, hands behind him, he stood mute.

"Must I leave you?" said Irene, when she could steady