would
desert her, her deeply wounded pride could not have held out, and she
surely must have found refuge in his arms. But her humiliation had
been so very deep, and her mood was now such that every nerve was
quivering with indignation; so, subduing the pleading of her heart,
she sprang away from the outstretched arms. As she faced him the angry
color again stole into her cheeks, and she exclaimed, in a suppressed
voice: "There are things, Harold, that a woman cannot forgive and
retain her self-respect. Even had I been as fickle as you thought,
that would not have been sufficient reason for you to make up your
mind to desert me; and in deserting me, place me in a position for the
world to suspect, wag its head at, and gossip over. You knew it would
do this, and yet it did not alter your decision to throw me over. And
now, after having renounced me, you ask me to forget and fly back to
your arms." She laughed bitterly, her manner growing cynical once
more. "No, no, Harold," she continued, "there can be no kissing, no
making up and being good between us; the knife has cut too deep. I
prefer facing the world, as you have decided, rather than trying to
live down this humiliation with you, and being in constant dread of
your threatening to desert me again, should any misunderstanding arise
in the future."

She again paused for a brief space, and then went on, in a firm, quiet
tone: "There is no use in prolonging this interview; nothing will
alter my decision; we will both follow out the course you have mapped
out. I repeat again, Harold, that if you do not leave the house, as
intended, I certainly shall."

Again, seating herself at the piano, she ran her fingers restlessly
over the keys, as though his presence were trying to her.

He stood by the side of the piano for a space and looked sadly and
absently at her; but her set face gave him no encouragement. With a
troubled air he turned and began to walk slowly and thoughtfully
toward the door--when in deep distress he always grew strangely
absent. When near the door his attention was attracted by a little
book lying on a table. He picked it up, without appearing to be
conscious of doing so, and opened it, but his eyes wandered far away
from the open pages. He raised his hand thoughtfully to his face and
said, ponderingly, to himself, in a low voice: "How--how could I have
made such a mistake--such a frightful mistake? How changed she is,
too!"

She now began to play a