is hate."

"Hate? Why, hate is a mediaeval emotion; you don't know what it means."
And as he spoke he told himself she was mad.

"Do I not? Ah, do I not?" She beat a measure on her knee with her
fingers, and her eyes roamed from Maule to the ceiling and then far into
space. "There is one whom I think of now; could I see him smitten with
agony such as no mortal ever felt before, his eyes filled with spectres,
his brain aflame--could I see that and know it to be my work, I should
lie down glad and willing, and die of delight."

She stood up and turned to him again. "Do I not know what hatred means?"

"Eden, you understand it so well that your conception of love must be
clearer still."

"Love, indeed!" She laughed disdainfully. "Why, love is a fever that
ends with a yawn. Love! Why, men used to die of love. Now they buy it as
they buy their hats, ready-made."

"Then I am in that fever now--Hush! here is your husband. The tenor
wasn't half bad, I admit. Mr. Usselex, I am glad to see you."

Maule had risen at Usselex's entrance and made a step forward to greet
him. "I stopped on my way to Delmonico's," he added, lightly. "I made
sure you were both going."

"Yes," Usselex answered. "The carriage is at the door now. We can give
you a lift if you care to."

He turned to Eden. "Shall I ring for your wrap?"

For one second Eden looked her husband straight in the eyes. And for one
second she stood dumb, impenetrable as Fate, then gathering the folds of
her dress in one hand, she answered in a tone which was perfectly
self-possessed, "I have changed my mind," and swept from the room.

VIII.

On reaching her room Eden bolted the door. The maid rapped, but she gave
no answer. Without was a whistling wind that parodied her anger. For a
moment she looked through the darkness for that lighthouse which is
Hope, but presumably she looked in vain. Then there came another rap,
and she heard her husband's voice. Misery had offered her its arm, and
she was silent. Her husband rapped again, entreating speech with her,
and still she made no answer. Presently she caught the sound of
retreating footsteps. She removed the opals, disrobed, undid her hair,
and accepting the proffered arm, she took Misery for bedfellow.

It was hours before she slept. But at last sleep came. In its
beneficence it remained until the morning had gone; then at noon-day it
left her, and she started with a tremor like to that which besets one
who