hat later is seen to violate the principles of humanity should be
void. And not only this, but you didn't consent that he should disgrace
you."

Nancy winced.

"I never told you that he paid my father's debts, I never told anyone,"
she said, in a low voice.

"Even then," I answered after a moment, "you ought to see that it's too
terrible a price to pay for your happiness. And Ham hasn't ever pretended
to consider you in any way. It's certain you didn't agree that he should
do--what he is doing."

"Suppose I admitted it," she said, "there remain Maude and your children.
Their happiness, their future becomes my responsibility as well as
yours."

"But I don't love Maude, and Maude doesn't love me. I grant it's my
fault, that I did her a wrong in marrying her, but she is right in
leaving me. I should be doing her a double wrong. And the children will
be happy with her, they will be well brought up. I, too, have thought
this out, Nancy," I insisted, "and the fact is that in our respective
marriages we have been, each of us, victims of our time, of our
education. We were born in a period of transition, we inherited views of
life that do not fit conditions to-day. It takes courage to achieve
happiness, initiative to emancipate one's self from a morality that
begins to hamper and bind. To stay as we are, to refuse to take what is
offered us, is to remain between wind and water. I don't mean that we
should do anything--hastily. We can afford to take a reasonable time, to
be dignified about it. But I have come to the conclusion that the only
thing that matters in the world is a love like ours, and its fulfilment.
Achievement, success, are empty and meaningless without it. And you do
love me--you've admitted it."

"Oh, I don't want to talk about it," she exclaimed, desperately.

"But we have to talk about it," I persisted. "We have to thrash it out,
to see it straight, as you yourself have said."

"You speak of convictions, Hugh,--new convictions, in place of the old we
have discarded. But what are they? And is there no such thing as
conscience--even though it be only an intuition of happiness or
unhappiness? I do care for you, I do love you--"

"Then why not let that suffice?" I exclaimed, leaning towards her.

She drew back.

"But I want to respect you, too," she said.

I was shocked, too shocked to answer.

"I want to respect you," she repeated, more gently. "I don't want to
think that--that what we feel for ea