n't go anywhere--ever--with you--now!_"

He broke into anger.

"You're talking utter nonsense; you must be mad. You've married
me--you're my wife. You'll have to come with me--to do as I tell you.
I--oh, confound it----!" He broke off, realising how dictatorial his
voice had grown. He paced away from her again, and again came back.

"Look at me, Christine." She raised her eyes obediently. The hot
blood rushed to Jimmy's face. He wondered if It were only his fancy,
or if there were really scorn in their soft brownness. He tried to
speak, but broke off. Christine rose to her feet; she passed the pink
letter as if she had not seen it; she walked to the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Jimmy sharply.

She looked back at him. "I don't know. I--oh, please leave me alone,"
she added piteously as he would have followed her.

He let her go then; he waited till the door had shut, then he snatched
up Cynthia's letter once again, and read it through.

It was an abominable thing to have done, he told himself--abominable;
and yet, as he read the skilfully penned words, his vain man's heart
beat a little faster at the knowledge that she still loved him, this
woman who had thrown him over so heartlessly; she still loved him,
though it was too late. The faint scent of the lilies which her
note-paper always carried brought back the memory of her with painful
vividness. Before he was conscious of it, Jimmy had lifted the letter
to his lips.

He flung it from him immediately in honest disgust; he despised himself
because he could not forget her; he tried to imagine what Christine
must be thinking--be suffering. With sudden impulse he tore open the
door; he went across to her room--their room; he tried the handle
softly. It was locked.

"Christine!" But there was no answer. He called again: "Christine!"
And now he heard her voice.

"Go away; please go away." An angry flush dyed his face. After all,
she was his wife; it was absurd to make this fuss. After all,
everything had happened before he proposed to her; it was all over and
done with. It was her duty to overlook the past.

He listened a moment; he wondered if anyone would hear if he ordered
her to let him in--if he threatened to break the door down.

He could hear her crying now; hear the deep, pitiful sobs that must be
shaking her whole slender body.

"Christine!" But there was nothing very masterful in the way he spoke
her name; his voice only