underneath he
knew there was a thwarted, hungry spirit,--a strong, fine spirit as
dainty Ariel. He would sting it to life, and tame it: it was his.

"I thought you would come, Stephen," she said, simply, motioning him to
a chair.

Could this automaton be Margret? He leaned on the mantel-shelf,
looking down with a cynical sneer.

"Is that the welcome? Why, there are a thousand greetings for this
time of love and good words you might have chosen. Besides, I have
come back ill and poor,--a beggar perhaps. How do women receive
such,--generous women? Is there no etiquette? no hand-shaking? nothing
more? remembering that I was once--not indifferent to you."

He laughed. She stood still and grave as before.

"Why, Margret, I have been down near death since that night."

He thought her lips grew gray, but she looked up clear and steady.

"I am glad you did not die. Yes, I can say that. As for hand-shaking,
my ideas may be peculiar as your own."

"She measures her words," he said, as to himself; "her very eye-light
is ruled by decorum; she is a machine, for work. She has swept her
child's heart clean of anger and revenge, even scorn for the wretch
that sold himself for money. There was nothing else to sweep out, was
there?"--bitterly,--"no friendships, such as weak women nurse and
coddle into being,--or love, that they live in, and die for sometimes,
in a silly way?"

"Unmanly!"

"No, not unmanly. Margret, let us be serious and calm. It is no time
to trifle or wear masks. That has passed between us which leaves no
room for sham courtesies."

"There needs none,"--meeting his eye unflinchingly. "I am ready to
meet you and hear your good-bye. Dr. Knowles told me your marriage was
near at hand. I knew you would come, Stephen. You did before."

He winced,--the more that her voice was so clear of pain.

"Why should I come? To show you what sort of a heart I have sold for
money? Why, you think you know, little Margret. You can reckon up its
deformity, its worthlessness, on your cool fingers. You could tell the
serene and gracious lady who is chaffering for it what a bargain she
has made,--that there is not in it one spark of manly honour or true
love. Don't venture too near it in your coldness and prudence. It has
tiger passions I will not answer for. Give me your hand, and feel how
it pants like a hungry fiend. It will have food, Margret."

She drew away the hand he grasped, and stood back in