er his breath.

She took a chair near by, put away the arm he would have placed about
her waist, drew from her pocket a dainty handkerchief bordered with
black, and opened it deliberately. It shed a delicate odor of violets.

Harry waited anxiously for her to speak.

"This mourning which I wear," she began gently, "I put on when I
received the news of your downfall."

"My downfall?" broke in Harry hotly. "Great heavens, you don't say that
you, too, have been carried away by this wretched village slander?"

"I put it on," she continued, unmindful of the interruption, "because I
suffered a loss which was greater than any merely physical death could
have occasioned."

"I don't understand you."

"My faith in you as a man superior to your fellows died then. This was a
much more cruel blow than your bodily death would have been."

"'Fore gad, you take a pleasant view of my decease--a much cooler one,
I must confess, than I am able to take of that interesting event in my
history."

Her great eyes blazed, and she seemed about to reply hotly, but she
restrained herself and went on with measured calmness:

"The reason I selected you from among all other men, and loved you,
and joyfully accepted as my lot in life to be your devoted wife and
helpmate, was that I believed you superior in all manly things to other
men. Without such a belief I could love no man."

She paused for an instant, and Harry managed to stammer:

"But what have I done to deserve being thrown over in this unexpected
way?"

"You have not done anything. That is the trouble. You have failed to do
that which was rightfully expected of you. You have allowed others, who
had no better opportunities, to surpass you in doing your manly duty.
Whatever else my husband may not be he must not fail in this."

"Rachel, you are hard and cruel."

"No, I am only kind to you and to myself. I know myself too well to
make a mistake in this respect. I have seen too many women who have been
compelled to defend, apologize, or blush for their husband's acts, and
have felt too keenly the abject misery of their lives to take the least
chance of adding myself to their sorrowful number. If I were married to
you I could endure to be beaten by you and perhaps love you still, but
the moment I was compelled to confess your inferiority to some other
woman's husband I should hate you, and in the end drag both of us down
to miserable graves."

"But let me explain this."

"It