e said in a sullen voice: "That is what I was thinking of--our
separation.... Do you realise that it is almost here?"

"No," she said faintly, "I cannot."

He moved forward, opening the glass doors wider; she laid one hand on
his arm as though to guide herself; but the eastern corridors were
bright with moonlight, every corner illuminated.

They were very silent until they turned into the south corridor and
reached her door; and there he suddenly gave way to his passionate
resentment, breaking out like a spoiled boy:

"Shiela, I tell you it's going to be unendurable! There must be some way
out, some chance for us.... I _don't_ mean to ask you to do what
is--what you consider dishonourable. You wouldn't do it anyway, whether
or not I asked you--"

"But don't ask me," she said, turning very white. "I don't know what I
am capable of if I should ever see you suffer!"

"You _couldn't_ do it!" he repeated; "it isn't in you to take your
happiness at their expense, is it? You say you know how they would feel;
I don't. But if you're asking for an annulment--"

"What? Do you mean divorce?"

"No.... That is--different--"

"But what--"

"You dear," he said, suddenly gentle, "you have never been a--wife; and
you don't know it."

"Garry, are you mad?"

"Shiela, dear, some day will you very quietly ask some woman the
difference between divorce and annulment?"

"Y-yes, if you wish.... Is it something you mayn't tell me, Garry?"

"Yes.... I don't know! You sometimes make me feel as though I could tell
you anything.... Of course I couldn't ... you darling!" He stepped
nearer. "You are so good and sweet, so utterly beyond evil, or the
vaguest thought of it--"

"Garry--I am _not_! And you know it!"

He only laughed at her.

"You _don't_ think I am a horrid sort of saint, do you?"

"No, not the horrid sort--"

"Garry! How can you say such things when I'm half ready now to run away
with you!"

The sudden hint of fire in her face and voice, and something new in her
eyes, sobered him.

"Now do you know what I am?" she said, breathing unevenly and watching
him. "Only one thing keeps me respectable. I'd go with you; I'd live in
rags to be with you. I ask nothing in the world or of the world except
you. You could make me what you pleased, mould me--mar me, I
believe--and I would be the happiest woman who ever loved. _That_ is
your saint!"

Flushed with her swift emotion, she stood a minute facing him, then laid
her