"  No?"  she  utters,  indifferently,  sailing  gracefully  into
a  chair.  "  I  am  going  to  the  opera."

"To  the  opera?"  he  echoes,  harshly.  "Have  you,
then,  fallen  so  low  that  you  can  flaunt  your  shame  openly
before  the  world?"

"If  you  came  for  the  pleasure  of  insulting  me,"  she
answers,  coldly,  "I  must  decline  to  hear  any  more;  re-
criminations are  not  amusing,  and  I  suppose  our  lawyers
can  settle  all  there  is  to  settle."

"For  God's  sake,"  he  cries,  hoarsely,  "don't  talk  like
that !  Are  you  destitute  of  every  spark  of  better  feeling?
Listen :  this  is  what  I  came  for.  I  came,  hoping  to  find
some  remorse  in  your  heart.  I  came  to  say  to  you,  *  If
you  have  repented,  if  from  to-day  you  will  swear  to  me
to  lead  a  new  life,  I  will  take  you  back  to  me ;  not  to  my
love,  not  to  my  heart,  but  to  my  name — my  hearth  and
home,  from  shame  and  disgrace — and  we  will  go  together


IN  DAYS  GONE  BY.  181

to  some  place  where  no  one  knows  us,  where  no  one  can
reproach  you,  where ' '

" Grand  merci?  she  interrupts,  scornfully;  "your
offer  is  too  magnanimous,  the  picture  you  draw  too  tempt-
ing. Thanks  very  much,  but  I  have  other  views."

His  heart  is  full  of  wrath  and  bitterness,  but  he  cannot
?»ee  this  woman  who  has  lain  on  his  breast,  whom  he  has
loved  so  dearly,  go  headlong  to  her  own  perdition.
"Have  you  no  pity  for  yourself?"  he  says,  presently;
words  seem  slow  in  coming  to  him — the  words  he  wants.
"No,"  she  answers,  icily,  "none  at  all.  I  am  sorry
for  you.  I  suppose  you  find  you  can't  live  without  me.
