ashes of the shabby past. They met often, and if
passionate admiration--passionate love, ever looked out of man's eyes,
it looked out of his now, when they rested on Norine.

It was part of his punishment, perhaps, that the woman he had betrayed
and cast off should inspire him with the one supreme passion of his
life.

She saw it all, and smiled, well content. She was not perfect, by any
means. Revenge she had bound herself to have. If revenge came in this
shape--so let it come. Every pang he had made her suffer he should
feel--as she had been scorned, so she would scorn him. For Mrs.
Thorndyke--well, was it not for Mrs. Thorndyke she had been forsaken.
She was his wife, at least--let his wife look to herself.

They met constantly. As yet he had never offended in words. They were
friends. She was interested in his "Deserted"--she visited it in company
with some acquaintances at the studio. She had praised it highly. If she
recalled the resemblance to herself, in that day past and gone, no word
nor look betrayed it.

"It will be a success, I am sure," she had said; "it is so true to life,
that it is almost painful to look at it."

Then he had spoken--in one quick, passionate whisper.

"Norine--forgive me!"

The dark eyes looked at him, not proudly, nor coldly, nor angrily
now--then fell.

His whole face flushed with rapture.

"I have something to say to you. You are never at home when I call.
Norine, I implore you! let me see you alone--once."

Over her face there came a sudden change--her lips set, her eyes
gleamed. What it meant he could not tell. He interpreted it to suit his
hopes.

"I will see you," she said, slowly. "When will you come?"

"A thousand thanks. This evening if I may."

She bent her head and turned from him.

"Whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad," she thought. "I
know as well as you do, Mr. Thorndyke, what you are coming to say
to-night, and--I shall not be the only listener."

He leaned in a sort of ecstasy against his own work. At last! she would
see him--she would hear how he had repented, how he worshipped her, how
the only hope that life held for him, was the one hope of winning back
her love. Of Helen he never thought--never once. It seemed so easy a
thing to put her away. Incompatibility of temper--anything would do. And
she had the pride of Lucifer. She would never lift a finger to retard
the divorce.

CHAPTER XX.

NORINE'S REVENGE.

My dear Mrs. T