ining it. It seems to me it would be better that I go away."

"I forgive you, Steve," she said, sadly, shaking her golden head.

"I presume you will want to do something about a legal separation--and
if you do not I shall."

The prayer books fell to the floor in collision with the slipping Pom
but Beatrice did not notice.

"So you do love her!" There was a hint of a snarl in her high-pitched
voice. "So you want to marry her after all!"

"I think," Steve continued, in the same even voice, "that as you are
going to tire of being a divorcee playing about, and will want a
second husband to help with the ennui that is bound to occur, you had
best select your form of a divorce and let me do what I can to aid in
the matter. You are very lovely this morning, as you usually are.
There is no doubt but what many men far better suited to you than I
will try to have you marry them--they will wisely never expect to
marry you. That was our great mistake, Beatrice. I thought I was
marrying you--but you were really marrying me."

"So you do love her," she repeated, paying no heed to what else he
said.

"Yes, I do," Steve said, with sudden honesty. It was a relief to be as
brutal and uncomplimentary as possible; it offset the silver-covered
prayer books, the breakfast tray, the bejewelled Pom, the whole
studied, inane effect of a discontented woman trying to play coquette
up to the last moment.

"I have loved her a long time. I could no more have refrained from it
than you can refrain from feeling a pique at the fact, though you have
nothing but contempt for us both and only a passing interest if the
truth were known. I am glad you have persisted in asking me until I
told you. I think one of the most promising signs that women will
survive is the fact that they are never afraid to ask questions, no
matter how delicate the situation. Men keep silence and often bring
disaster on their sulky heads as a result."

"So--and you dare tell me this?"

"Of course I do. I dare to tell you the truth, which no one else has
ever taken the pains to tell you. If you do not get a divorce I intend
to. Not that I champion the custom as a particularly healthy
institution, but it is sometimes a necessary one. If it is any
satisfaction to you I do not think Miss Faithful has the slightest
idea of marrying me. She has put that part of her aside for business
and taking care of Luke. The time has passed when she would have
married me. Still, I shall