. . . on--on that point--but, believe me, true
unselfishness is to bear one's burdens in--in silence. The ideal
must--must be preserved--for others, at least. It's clear as daylight.
If I've a--a loathsome sore, to gratuitously display it would be
abominable--abominable! And often in life--in the highest conception
of life--outspokenness in certain circumstances is nothing less than
criminal. Temptation, you know, excuses no one. There is no such thing
really if one looks steadily to one's welfare--which is grounded in
duty. But there are the weak." . . . His tone became ferocious for an
instant . . . "And there are the fools and the envious--especially for
people in our position. I am guiltless of this terrible--terrible . . .
estrangement; but if there has been nothing irreparable." . . .
Something gloomy, like a deep shadow passed over his face. . . .
"Nothing irreparable--you see even now I am ready to trust you
implicitly--then our duty is clear."

He looked down. A change came over his expression and straightway
from the outward impetus of his loquacity he passed into the dull
contemplation of all the appeasing truths that, not without some wonder,
he had so recently been able to discover within himself. During this
profound and soothing communion with his innermost beliefs he remained
staring at the carpet, with a portentously solemn face and with a dull
vacuity of eyes that seemed to gaze into the blankness of an empty hole.
Then, without stirring in the least, he continued:

"Yes. Perfectly clear. I've been tried to the utmost, and I can't
pretend that, for a time, the old feelings--the old feelings are not.
. . ." He sighed. . . . "But I forgive you. . . ."

She made a slight movement without uncovering her eyes. In his profound
scrutiny of the carpet he noticed nothing. And there was silence,
silence within and silence without, as though his words had stilled the
beat and tremor of all the surrounding life, and the house had stood
alone--the only dwelling upon a deserted earth.

He lifted his head and repeated solemnly:

"I forgive you . . . from a sense of duty--and in the hope . . ."

He heard a laugh, and it not only interrupted his words but also
destroyed the peace of his self-absorption with the vile pain of a
reality intruding upon the beauty of a dream. He couldn't understand
whence the sound came. He could see, foreshortened, the tear-stained,
dolorous face of the woman stretched out, and with