God!" he said, getting up. "No! No! No! I'm through now. I'm
through! I've had enough of fake hysterics and tears. Tears one minute,
and wrath and hate the next. Subtlety! Subtlety! Subtlety! Nothing
doing. You've been master and jailer long enough. It's my turn now. I'll
do a little jailing and task-setting for a change. I'm in the saddle,
and I'm going to stay there. You can cry if you want to, you can do what
you please about the child. I'm through. I'm tired, and I'm going to
bed, but this thing is going to stand just as it does. I'm through, and
that's all there is to it."

He strode out of the room angrily and fiercely, but nevertheless, when
he reached it, he sat in his own room, which was on the other side of
the studio from Angelas, and did not sleep. His mind was on fire with
the thought of Suzanne; he thought of the old order which had been so
quickly and so terribly broken. Now, if he could remain master, and he
could, he proposed to take Suzanne. She would come to him, secretly no
doubt, if necessary. They would open a studio, a second establishment.
Angela might not give him a divorce. If what she said was true, she
couldn't. He wouldn't want her to, but he fancied from this conversation
that she was so afraid of him that she would not stir up any trouble.
There was nothing she could really do. He was in the saddle truly, and
would stay there. He would take Suzanne, would provide amply for Angela,
would visit all those lovely public resorts he had so frequently seen,
and he and Suzanne would be happy together.

Suzanne! Suzanne! Oh, how beautiful she was! And to think how nobly and
courageously she had stood by him tonight. How she had slipped her hand
into his so sweetly and had said, "But I love him, Mrs. Witla." Yes, she
loved him. No doubt of that. She was young, exquisite, beautifully
rounded in her budding emotion and feeling. She was going to develop
into a wonderful woman, a real one. And she was so young. What a pity it
was he was not free now! Well, wait, this would right all things, and,
meanwhile, he would have her. He must talk to Suzanne. He must tell her
how things stood. Poor little Suzanne! There she was in her room
wondering what was to become of her, and here was he. Well, he couldn't
go to her tonight. It did not look right, and, besides, Angela might
fight still. But tomorrow! Tomorrow! Oh, tomorrow he would walk and talk
with her, and they would plan. Tomorrow he would show her just w