further. He had married her! Why had he?
He might have cared for Christina and Ruby, but he must have cared for
her too. Why hadn't she thought of that? There was something in
it--something besides a mere desire to deceive her. Perhaps he did care
for her a little. Anyway it was plain that she could not get very far by
arguing with him--he was getting stubborn, argumentative, contentious.
She had not seen him that way before.

"Oh!" she sobbed, taking refuge from this very difficult realm of logic
in the safer and more comfortable one of illogical tears. "I don't know
what to do! I don't know what to think!"

She was badly treated, no doubt of that. Her life was a failure, but
even so there was some charm about him. As he stood there, looking
aimlessly around, defiant at one moment, appealing at another, she could
not help seeing that he was not wholly bad. He was just weak on this one
point. He loved pretty women. They were always trying to win him to
them. He was probably not wholly to blame. If he would only be repentant
enough, this thing might be allowed to blow over. It couldn't be
forgiven. She never could forgive him for the way he had deceived her.
Her ideal of him had been pretty hopelessly shattered--but she might
live with him on probation.

"Angela!" he said, while she was still sobbing, and feeling that he
ought to apologize to her. "Won't you believe me? Won't you forgive me?
I don't like to hear you cry this way. There's no use saying that I
didn't do anything. There's no use my saying anything at all, really.
You won't believe me. I don't want you to; but I'm sorry. Won't you
believe that? Won't you forgive me?"

Angela listened to this curiously, her thoughts going around in a ring
for she was at once despairing, regretful, revengeful, critical,
sympathetic toward him, desirous of retaining her state, desirous of
obtaining and retaining his love, desirous of punishing him, desirous of
doing any one of a hundred things. Oh, if he had only never done this!
And he was sickly, too. He needed her sympathy.

"Won't you forgive me, Angela?" he pleaded softly, laying his hand on
her arm. "I'm not going to do anything like that any more. Won't you
believe me? Come on now. Quit crying, won't you?"

Angela hesitated for a while, lingering dolefully. She did not know what
to do, what to say. It might be that he would not sin against her any
more. He had not thus far, in so far as she knew. Still this was a