seem like an
appeal to his compassion, to his indulgence; and that was not what she
wanted. She could never forget that he had left her because he had not
been able to forgive her for "managing"--and not for the world would she
have him think that this meeting had been planned for such a purpose.

"If he doesn't see that I am different, in spite of appearances... and
that I never was what he said I was that day--if in all these months it
hasn't come over him, what's the use of trying to make him see it now?"
she mused. And then, her thoughts hurrying on: "Perhaps he's suffering
too--I believe he is suffering-at any rate, he's suffering for me, if
not for himself. But if he's pledged to Coral, what can he do? What
would he think of me if I tried to make him break his word to her?"

There he stood--the man who was "going to Fontainebleau to-morrow"; who
called it "taking the necessary steps!" Who could smile as he made the
careless statement! A world seemed to divide them already: it was as if
their parting were already over. All the words, cries, arguments beating
loud wings in her dropped back into silence. The only thought left was:
"How much longer does he mean to go on standing there?"

He may have read the question in her face, for turning back from an
absorbed contemplation of the window curtains he said: "There's nothing
else?"

"Nothing else?"

"I mean: you spoke of things to be settled--"

She flushed, suddenly remembering the pretext she had used to summon
him.

"Oh," she faltered, "I didn't know... I thought there might be.... But
the lawyers, I suppose...."

She saw the relief on his contracted face. "Exactly. I've always thought
it was best to leave it to them. I assure you"--again for a moment the
smile strained his lips--"I shall do nothing to interfere with a quick
settlement."

She stood motionless, feeling herself turn to stone. He appeared already
a long way off, like a figure vanishing down a remote perspective.

"Then--good-bye," she heard him say from its farther end.

"Oh,--good-bye," she faltered, as if she had not had the word ready, and
was relieved to have him supply it.

He stopped again on the threshold, looked back at her, began to speak.
"I've--" he said; then he repeated "Good-bye," as though to make sure he
had not forgotten to say it; and the door closed on him.

It was over; she had had her last chance and missed it. Now, whatever
happened, the one thing she had lived an