ely beauty offended her, his low, calm voice was the very
keynote of irritation.

One morning near Christmas he came to her with a smiling, radiant face.
"Dora," he said, "Dora, my love, I have something so interesting to
tell you. Mrs. Colby and Mrs. Schaffler and some other ladies have a
beautiful idea. They wish to give all the children of the church under
eight years old the grandest Christmas tree imaginable--really rich
presents and they thought you might like to have it here."

"What do you say, Basil!"

"You were always so fond of children. You----"

"I never could endure them."

"We all thought you might enjoy it. Indeed, I was so sure that I
promised for you. It will be such a pleasure to me also, dear."

"I will have no such childish nonsense in my house."

"I promised it, Dora."

"You had no right to do so. This is my house. My father bought it and
gave me it, and it is my own. I----"

"It seems, then, that I intrude in your house. Is it so? Speak, Dora."

"If you will ask questions you must take the answer. You do intrude when
you come with such ridiculous proposals--in fact, you intrude very often
lately."

"Does Mr. Mostyn intrude?"

"Mr. Mostyn takes me out, gives me a little sensible pleasure. You think
I can be interested in a Christmas tree. The idea!"

"Alas, alas, Dora, you are tired of me! You do not love me! You do not
love me!"

"I love nobody. I am sorry I got married. It was all a mistake. I will
go home and then you can get a divorce."

At this last word the whole man changed. He was suffused, transfigured
with an anger that was at once righteous and impetuous.

"How dare you use that word to me?" he demanded. "To the priest of
God no such word exists. I do not know it. You are my wife, willing or
unwilling. You are my wife forever, whether you dwell with me or
not. You cannot sever bonds the Almighty has tied. You are mine, Dora
Stanhope! Mine for time and eternity! Mine forever and ever!"

She looked at him in amazement, and saw a man after an image she had
never imagined. She was terrified. She flung herself on the sofa in
a whirlwind of passion. She cried aloud against his claim. She gave
herself up to a vehement rage that was strongly infused with a childish
dismay and panic.

"I will not be your wife forever!" she shrieked. "I will never be your
wife again--never, not for one hour! Let me go! Take your hands off me!"
For Basil had knelt down by the distraught woman