I know, but--you care a little for me still!"

Her face flushed, as a girl's might under her lover's first caress. Then
she covered it with her hands and broke into a passion of tears.

He soothed her with caresses.

"It will be different now," he said. "Forgive the past, Nellie, if you
can. I swear to do better in the future."

Forgive! What is there that a wife who loves will not forgive? On her
wedding-day Helen Thorndyke had hardly been more blessed. With a glow on
her cheeks and a light in her eyes, strangers there for many a day, she
went back to her drudgery. And smiling a little to himself, as he lit
his cigar and sauntered to his friend Saroni's studio, Mr. Thorndyke
mused:

"They're all alike--all! Ready to forgive a man seventy times seven, let
him do as he may. Ready to sell themselves body and soul for a kiss! And
what is true of Helen shall be true of Norine."

So Mr. Thorndyke set to work, and with untiring energy, be it said.
"Deserted," he meant to call this production of genius. It should tell
its own story to all. The white, marble face would look up, all wrought
and strained in its mortal anguish. The locked hands, the writhing
figure, all should tell of woman's woe. The face he had in his brain--as
he had seen it last down there in the light of the summer noon. All was
at stake here--he must not--he would not fail.

And while Mr. Thorndyke chiselled marble, Mrs. Thorndyke copied her law
papers. She had met Mrs. Darcy more than once in Mr. Gilbert's office,
and Mr. Darcy's proposal had been laid before her. Her eyes had kindled,
her face flushed as she refused.

"Leave my husband? Never! Whatever his errors, he loves me at least--has
always been true to me. All other things I can forgive. Mr. Darcy meant
kindly, no doubt--so do you, madame, but I refuse your offer, now and
forever. I will not leave my husband."

The gravely beautiful eyes of Mrs. Darcy had looked at her
compassionately.

"Loves you!" she thought--"always been true to you. Poor little fool!"

For she knew better. She and Mr. Thorndyke met often. Now that he had
"gone in for" respectability and hard work, old friends came back, old
doors flew open, society accepted him again. He was ever an acquisition,
brilliant handsome, gay. Married, it is true, but his wife never
appeared. Truth to tell, Mrs. Thorndyke had nothing to wear. Mr.
Thorndyke in some way rejuvenated his wardrobe, and rose, glorious as
the Phoenix, from the