rved marble pillar.

"Wait," she said. "Wait; let me talk to you."

She untwined his arms from about her--the tears were still in her eyes
as she tried to face him.

"Why should you still have tears?" said he. "If anything stood between
us and love, there might be room for tears, but nothing stands between
us now. I am yours, you are mine."

"That is the boast of a man who sees only the beginning of a love; mine
are the tears of a woman who sees its end, and knows that it is not far
off."

"How can you say that? The end? the end of love such as ours? Oh, Ella!"

"Oh, listen to me, my love! I am ashamed of the part I have played
during the past six months--since we were together on the Arno, and you
are ashamed, too."

"I am not ashamed. I have no reason to be ashamed."

"No; you are not ashamed of the part you have played; but you are
ashamed of me, Bertie."

"Oh you? I--ashamed of you? Oh, my darling, if you talk longer in that
strain I will be ashamed of you."

"You are ashamed of me--I have sometimes felt it. A man with a heart
such as I know yours to be, cannot but be ashamed of a woman, who,
though the wife of another man, allows him to kiss her--yes, and who
gives him kiss for kiss. Oh, go away--go away! I have had enough of your
love--enough of your kisses, enough shame! Go away! I never wish to see
you again--to kiss you again."

She had walked to the other end of the room, and stood under a Venetian
mirror--it shone like a monstrous jewel above her head--looking at him,
her hands clenched, her eyes flashing through the tears that had not yet
fallen.

He had had no experience of women and their moods, and he was
consequently amazed at her attitude. He took a step toward her.

"No--no," she cried angrily. "I will not have any more of you. I tell
you that I have had enough. I find now that what I mistook for love was
just the opposite. I believe that I hate you. No--no, Bertie, not that,
it cannot be that, only----Oh, I know now that it is not hate for you
that I feel--it is hate for myself, hate for the creature who is hateful
enough to stand between you and the happiness which you have earned by
patience, by constancy, by self-control. Yes, I hate the creature who is
idiotic enough to put honor between us, to put religion between us, to
put her soul's salvation between us."

"Ella, Ella, why will you not trust me?" he said, when she had flung
herself into a chair. He was standing over her with