er, it had been but a dull realization, like an ache, vivified at
intervals by sudden heats of anger, which, he was sure--though he might
be talking on other subjects at the moment--must bring the color to his
face. Man-like, he preferred the anger, it was better than the ache; he
should have liked to be angry all the time.

The ache and the anger had been caused by what he had with his own eyes
beheld, namely, the secret visit of Margaret to Lucian Spenser. For it
was secret. Lucian had said good-by to her before them all, it had been
left clearly to be supposed that they were not to see each other again;
this, then, had been a clandestine meeting. Margaret was no school-girl,
she was not ignorant of the rules of the world. And she was not an
exception, like Garda Thorne, full of sudden impulses, with an
extraordinary openness in following them; he had never thought Margaret
impulsive in the least. Yet there she was; she had slipped away without
the knowledge of any one, to go over to that solitary house for a
farewell interview with its occupant. Of course her being there at that
last moment, woman of deliberate intentions as she was, proved that an
acquaintance which she had not acknowledged existed between them; for
she had never shown any especial interest in Lucian in the presence of
others; on the contrary, she had appeared indifferent to him, she had
acted a part; they had both acted a part, and they had acted it so well
that he (Winthrop) had never once suspected them. A wrath rose within
him as he thought of this.

He had always disapproved of Margaret in one way; but at least--so he
kept telling himself--at least he had thought her entirely without
traits of this kind. He had thought her cold; but he had thought, too,
that she had principles, and strong ones. It was probably her
principles, more than anything else, that had made her leave Lanse in
the beginning; she might even be said to have been something of a martyr
to them, because, with her regard for appearances, she would have
infinitely preferred, of course, to have remained under the same roof
with Lanse, had it been possible, to have avoided the comment which is
roused by any long separation between a husband and wife, even though
but that comparatively mild degree of it which follows a separation as
carefully guarded and as undefined in duration as hers had been. For
nothing was ever said about its being a permanent one; people might
conclude, and