the pins out of
her hair. For fully a minute she could see him leaning there, moving his
head and hands as though in pain. Then, to her surprise, he went. And a
vague feeling of compunction mingled with her sense of deliverance. She
lay awake a long time, watching the fire-glow brighten and darken on
the ceiling, tunes from "The Tales of Hoffmann" running in her head;
thoughts and fancies crisscrossing in her excited brain. Falling asleep
at last, she dreamed she was feeding doves out of her hand, and one of
them was Daphne Wing. She woke with a start. The fire still burned, and
by its light she saw him crouching at the foot of the bed, just as he
had on their wedding-night--the same hungry yearning in his face, and an
arm outstretched. Before she could speak, he began:

"Oh, Gyp, you don't understand! All that is nothing--it is only you I
want--always. I am a fool who cannot control himself. Think! It's a long
time since you went away from me."

Gyp said, in a hard voice:

"I didn't want to have a child."

He said quickly:

"No; but now you have it you are glad. Don't be unmerciful, my Gyp!
It is like you to be merciful. That girl--it is all over--I swear--I
promise."

His hand touched her foot through the soft eiderdown. Gyp thought: 'Why
does he come and whine to me like this? He has no dignity--none!' And
she said:

"How can you promise? You have made the girl love you. I saw her face."

He drew his hand back.

"You saw her?"

"Yes."

He was silent, staring at her. Presently he began again:

"She is a little fool. I do not care for the whole of her as much as I
care for your one finger. What does it matter what one does in that
way if one does not care? The soul, not the body, is faithful. A man
satisfies appetite--it is nothing."

Gyp said:

"Perhaps not; but it is something when it makes others miserable."

"Has it made you miserable, my Gyp?"

His voice had a ring of hope. She answered, startled:

"I? No--her."

"Her? Ho! It is an experience for her--it is life. It will do her no
harm."

"No; nothing will do anybody harm if it gives you pleasure."

At that bitter retort, he kept silence a long time, now and then heaving
a long sigh. His words kept sounding in her heart: "The soul, not the
body, is faithful." Was he, after all, more faithful to her than she had
ever been, could ever be--who did not love, had never loved him? What
right had she to talk, who had married him out of vanity