t
out. He had presented it to her.

"You'd better keep it as a memorandum of the details," he had said
and, without glancing at its contents, she had thrust it into this
drawer. Now she hurriedly spread it open.

"In the event of my death, or the discontinuance of the relations
which now exist between Miss Sally Bishop and myself--"

These were the first words that met her eyes. Her fingers closed
automatically over the paper, crushing it into her palm. Could she
need any more proof than that? That a settlement and dealing with
a relationship such as theirs must be worded in such a way, carried
no weight with it to her mind. She knew then, that when he had alluded
to the event of his death, it had been farthest from his thoughts.
He had meant their separation. In three years--a little more than
three years it had come. He was tired of her. She knew well then how
useless had been her efforts to move him to passion the night before.
Her cheeks flamed, thinking that it had not been because he was
unconscious of her attempt. He had seen it. There was no doubt in
her mind that when he had told her to fasten her dressing-gown, when
he had noticed the perfumes of scent from her hair, he had realized
the motive that was acting within her. But he was tired--satiated.
And how he must have loathed her! Yet no greater than she, at that
moment, loathed herself. He knew--of course he knew--that her coming
down to get the book had all been an excuse. He had probably thought
that her desire had been for herself. How could he possibly have known
that she felt no desire, had been frigid, cold, without a strain of
passion in her thoughts, seeking only to tempt him to her side, for
his pleasure alone, with the delights of her body? How could he have
known? He did not know! Of a certainty he must have thought that it
was her own satisfaction she was seeking. The blood raced back from
her cheeks, leaving her shivering and cold. Oh, how he must have
loathed her! Why had she done it? Why was there not some illuminating
power to point out the intricacy of the ways when people came to such
a maze in life as this?

In a torture of shame that blent with all her misery, she flung
herself, dressed as she was, on to the bed. Let him find her
there--what did it matter! She realized that she had lost everything.
And there she lay, eyes burning and dry, heart just beating faintly
in her breast. But when she heard his footsteps mounting the stairs,