ittle, unpremeditated acts of Ditmar that
she had loved to linger, and now, in the light of Lise's testimony, of
Lise's experience, she saw them all as false. It seemed incredible, now,
that she had ever deceived herself into thinking that Ditmar meant to
marry her, that he loved her enough to make her his wife. Nor was it
necessary to summon and marshal incidents to support this view, they
came of themselves, crowding one another, a cumulative and appalling
array of evidence, before which she stood bitterly amazed at her
former stupidity. And in the events of yesterday, which she pitilessly
reviewed, she beheld a deliberate and prearranged plan for her betrayal.
Had he not telephoned to Boston for the rooms, rehearsed in his own mind
every detail of what had subsequently happened? Was there any essential
difference between the methods of Ditmar and Duval? Both were skilled in
the same art, and Ditmar was the cleverer of the two. It had only needed
her meeting with Lise, in that house, to reveal how he had betrayed her
faith and her love, sullied and besmirched them. And then came the odd
reflection,--how strange that that same Sunday had been so fateful for
herself and Lise!

The agony of these thoughts was mitigated by the scorching hatred
that had replaced her love, the desire for retaliation, revenge.
Occasionally, however, that stream of consciousness was broken by the
recollection of what she had permitted and even advised her sister to
do; and though the idea of the place to which Lise was going sickened
her, though she achieved a certain objective amazement at the
transformation in herself enabling her to endorse such a course, she was
glad of having endorsed it, she rejoiced that Lise's child would not be
born into a world that had seemed--so falsely--fair and sweet, and
in reality was black and detestable. Her acceptance of the act--for
Lise--was a function of the hatred consuming her, a hatred which,
growing in bigness, had made Ditmar merely the personification of that
world. From time to time her hands clenched, her brow furrowed, powerful
waves of heat ran through her, the craving for action became so intense
she could scarcely refrain from rising in her seat.

By some odd whim of the weather the wind had backed around into the
east, gathering the clouds once more. The brilliancy of the morning had
given place to greyness, the high slits of windows seemed dirtier than
ever as the train pulled into the sta