Her whole personality was aflame. "You talk of honor!"

"Yes I talk of it. Why shouldn't I?"

"Do you know anything about it?"

"Would you marry a man who didn't?"

"I haven't married any one--as yet."

"But you're going to marry me, I presume."

"Considering the facts, that's a good deal in the way of presumption,
isn't it?"

They reached the place to which they came once in every few weeks,
where each had the impulse to hurt the other cruelly.

"If it's so much presumption as all that," he demanded, "what's the
meaning of that ring?"

"Oh, I don't have to go on wearing it." Crossing the room she pulled
it off and held it out toward him "Do you want it back?"

He shrank away from her. "Don't be a fool Barbe. You may go too far."

"That's what I'm afraid of--that I've gone too far already."

"In what way?"

"In the way that's brought us face to face like this. If I'd never
promised to marry you I shouldn't now have to--to reconsider."

"Oh, so that's it. You're reconsidering."

"Don't you see that I have to? If you make me as unhappy as you can
before marriage, what'll it be afterward?"

"And how happy are you making me?"

Holding the ring between the thumb and forefinger of the right hand,
she played at putting it back, without doing it. "So there you are!
Isn't that another reason for reconsidering--for both of us?"

"Don't you care anything about me?"

"You make it difficult--after such an exhibition as that of last
night, right before Aunt Marion. Can't you imagine that there are
situations in which I feel ashamed?"

It was then that he spoke the words which changed the current of his
life. "And can't you imagine that there are situations in which I
resent being badgered by a bitter-tongued old maid, to say nothing of
a girl----" He knew how "crazy" he was, but the habit of getting
beyond his own control was one of long standing--"to say nothing of a
girl who's more like an old maid than a woman going to be married."

With a renewed attempt at being master he pointed at the ring which
she was still holding within an inch of its finger. "Put that back."

"I think not."

"Then if you don't----"

"Well--what?"

Plunging his hands into the pockets of his coat, he began tearing up
and down the room. "Look here, Barbe. This kind of thing can't
possibly go on."

"Which is what I'm trying to tell you, isn't it?"

"Very well, then; we can stop it."

"Certainly--in one way."

"The way