on wants is
either right or wrong. You made me thirsty with your talk and your
books and your music, and when I was tormented with thirst, you came
and offered me a drink of water. That was it. I don't care about your
not marrying me. I still don't see that that has much to do with it
except, perhaps, that a man would be caring to give any woman he
rightly loves whatever help or cherishing or gifts the world has
decided to give her. But, you see, Prosper, we didn't start fair. You
knew that Pierre was alive."

"But, Joan, you say yourself that marrying--"

She stopped him with so fierce a gesture that he flinched. "Yes.
Pierre did rightly love me. He gave me his best as he knew it. Oh, he
was ignorant, a savage, I guess, like I was. But he did rightly love
me. He was not trying to break my spirit nor to tame me, nor to amuse
himself with me, nor to give me a longing for beauty and easiness and
then leave me to fight through my own rough life without any of those
things. Did you really think, Prosper Gael, that I would stay in your
house and live on your money till you should be caring to come back to
me--if ever you would care? Did you honestly think that you would be
coming back--as--as my lover? No. Whatever it was that took you away,
it was likely to keep you from me for always, wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Prosper in a muffled voice, "it was likely to. But, Joan,
Fate was on your side. Since I have been yours, I haven't belonged to
any one but you. You've put your brand on me."

"I don't want to hear about you," Joan broke in. "I am done with you.
Have you seen this play?"

"Yes." He found that in telling her so he could not meet her eyes.

"Well, the man who wrote that knew what you are, and, if he didn't,
every one that has seen me act in it, knows what you are." She paused,
breathing fast and trembling. "Good-bye," she said.

He went vaguely toward the door, then threw up his head defiantly.
"No," he said, "it's not going to be good-bye. I've found you. You
must let me tell you the truth about myself. Come, Joan, you're as
just as Heaven. You never read my explanations. You've never heard my
side of it. You'll let me come to see you and you'll hear me out.
Don't do me an injustice. I'll leave the whole thing in your hands
after that. But you must give me that one chance."

"Chance?" repeated Joan. "Chance for what?"

"Oh,"--Prosper flung up his lithe, long hands--"oh, for nothing but a
cleansing in your si