life was rotten enough, but this is insupportable. I'm going to have a
fling, and after that I don't care what becomes of me.

"Now, Lawrence, I don't want you to blame yourself. I did think perhaps
that when we were married I might have got you to care for me a little,
but I suppose that was just my vanity. It wasn't very possible with a
woman like--well, never mind who--about. You did your best. You were
very nice and very kind to me last night, but it wasn't the real thing,
was it? I knew you hated being where you were. I could almost hear your
sigh of relief when I let you go. The fact of it is, our marriage was a
mistake. I ought to have been satisfied with your name, I suppose, and
the position it gave me, but I'm not that sort of woman. I've been in
Bohemia too long. I like cheery friends, even if their names are not in
Debrett, and I must have some one to care for me, or to pretend to care
for me. You know I've cared for you--only you in a certain way--but I'm
not heroic enough to be content with a shadowy love. I'm not an
idealist. Imagination doesn't content me in the least. I'd rather have
an inferior substance than ideal perfection. You see, I'm a very
commonplace person at heart, Lawrence--almost vulgar. But these are my
last words to you, so I've gone in for plain speaking. Now you're rid
of me.

"That's all! From your point of view I suppose, and your friends, I've
gone to the devil. Don't be too sure of it. I'm going to have a good
time, and when the end comes I'm willing to pay. If you are idiotic
enough to come after me, I shall be angry with you for the first time
in my life, and it wouldn't be the least bit of use. Englehall's an old
friend of mine, and he's a good sort. He's wanted me to do this often
enough for years, but I never felt quite like it. I believe he'd marry
me after, but he's got a wife shut up somewhere.

"I expect you think this a callous sort of letter. Well, I can't help
it. If it disgusts you with me, so much the better. I'm sorry for the
scandal, but you will get over that. Good-bye, Lawrence. Forgive me all
the bother I've been to you.

"Blanche."

Mannering looked up from the letter, and again his eyes met Hester's. The
secret was theirs alone. Very carefully he tore the pages into small
pieces. Then he opened the stove and watched them consumed.

"No one will ever know," Hester said. "She said--when she le