her she will or not."

"Sepia, if you think that, because I hate my husband, I would allow
another man to make love to me, you do not know me yet."

"I know you very well; you do not know yourself, Hesper; you do not
know the heart of a woman--because your own has never come awake yet."

"God forbid it ever should, then--so long as--as the man I hate is
alive!"

Sepia laughed.

"A good prayer," she said; "for who can tell what you might do to him!"

"Sepia, I sometimes think you are a devil."

"And I sometimes think you are a saint."

"What do you take me for the other times?"

"A hypocrite. What do _you_ take _me_ for the other times?"

"No hypocrite," answered Hesper.

With a light, mocking laugh, Sepia turned away, and left the room.

Hesper did not move. If stillness indicates thought, then Hesper was
thinking; and surely of late she had suffered what might have waked
something like thought in what would then have been something like a
mind: all the machinery of thought was there--sorely clogged, and
rusty; but for a woman to hate her husband is hardly enough to make a
thinking creature of her. True as it was, there was no little
affectation in her saying what she did about the worthlessness of her
life. She was plump and fresh; her eye was clear, her hand firm and
cool; suffering would have to go a good deal deeper before it touched
in her the issues of life, or the love of it. What set her talking so,
was in great part the _ennui_ of endeavor after enjoyment, and the
reaction from success in the pursuit. Her low moods were, however, far
more frequent than, even with such fatigue and reaction to explain
them, belonged to her years, her health, or her temperament.

The fire grew hot. Hesper thought of her complexion, and pushed her
chair back. Then she rose, and, having taken a hand-screen from the
chimney-piece, was fanning herself with it, when the door opened, and a
servant asked if she were at home to Mr. Helmer. She hesitated a
moment: what an unearthly hour for a caller!

"Show him up," she answered: anything was better than her own company.

Tom Helmer entered--much the same--a little paler and thinner. He made
his approach with a certain loose grace natural to him, and seated
himself on the chair, at some distance from her own, to which Mrs.
Redmain motioned him.

Tom seldom failed of pleasing. He was well dressed, and not too much;
and, to the natural confidence of his shallow character,