Battle Field," she said, "I
committed a crime against my father and mother. This is--my
punishment--the beginning of it. And now--there'll be
the--the--baby--" A pause, then: "I must bear the consequences--if I
can. But I shall not be your wife--never--never again. If you wish me
to stay on that condition, I'll try. If not--"

"You MUST stay, Pauline," he interrupted. "I don't care what terms you
make, you must stay. It's no use for me to try to defend myself when
you're in this mood. You wouldn't listen. But you're right about not
going. If you did, it'd break your father's and mother's hearts. I
admit I did drink too much last night, and made a fool of myself. But
if you were more experienced, you'd--"

He thought he had worked his courage up to the point where he could
meet her eyes. He tried it. Her look froze his flow of words. "I
KNOW that you were false from the beginning," she said.

"The man I thought you were never existed--and I know it. We won't
speak of this--ever--after now. Surely you can't wish me to stay?"
And into her voice surged all her longing to go, all her hope that he
would reject the only terms on which self-respect would let her stay.

"Wish you to stay?" he repeated. And he faced her, looking at her, his
chest heaving under the tempest of hate and passion that was raging in
him--hate because she was defying and dictating to him, passion because
she was so beautiful as she stood there, like a delicate, fine
hot-house rose poised on a long, graceful stem. "No wonder I LOVE
you!" he exclaimed between his clenched teeth.

A bright spot burned in each of her cheeks and her look made him redden
and lower his eyes.

"Now that I understand these last five months," she said, "that from
you is an insult."

His veins and muscles swelled with the fury he dared not show; for he
saw and felt how dangerous her mood was.

"I'll agree to whatever you like, Pauline," he said humbly. "Only, we
mustn't have a flare-up and a scandal. I'll never speak to you again
about--about anything you don't want to hear."

She went into her bedroom. When, after half an hour, she reappeared,
she was ready to go down to lunch. In the elevator he stole a glance
at her--there was no color in her face, not even in her lips. His rage
had subsided; he was ashamed of himself--before her. But he felt
triumphant too.

"I thought she'd go, sure, in spite of her fear of hurting her father
and mother,