She therefore could not withstand his argument.  But with the self-combating proclivity of the supersensitive, an answer thereto arose in Clare’s own mind, and he almost feared it.  It was based on her exceptional physical nature; and she might have used it promisingly.  She might have added besides:  “On an Australian upland or Texan plain, who is to know or care about my misfortunes, or to reproach me or you?” Yet, like the majority of women, she accepted the momentary presentment as if it were the inevitable.  And she may have been right.  The intuitive heart of woman knoweth not only its own bitterness, but its husband’s, and even if these assumed reproaches were not likely to be addressed to him or to his by strangers, they might have reached his ears from his own fastidious brain.

It was the third day of the estrangement.  Some might risk the odd paradox that with more animalism he would have been the nobler man.  We do not say it.  Yet Clare’s love was doubtless ethereal to a fault, imaginative to impracticability.  With these natures, corporal presence is something less appealing than corporal absence; the latter creating an ideal presence that conveniently drops the defects of the real.  She found that her personality did not plead her cause so forcibly as she had anticipated.  The figurative phrase was true:  she was another woman than the one who had excited his desire.

“I have thought over what you say,” she remarked to him, moving her forefinger over the tablecloth, her other hand, which bore the ring that mocked them both, supporting her forehead.  “It is quite true, all of it; it must be.  You must go away from me.”

“But what can you do?”

“I can go home.”

Clare had not thought of that.

“Are you sure?” he inquired.

“Quite sure.  We ought to part, and we may as well get it past and done.  You once said that I was apt to win men against their better judgement; and if I am constantly before your eyes I may cause you to change your plans in opposition to your reason and wish; and afterwards your repentance and my sorrow will be terrible.”

“And you would like to go home?” he asked.

“I want to leave you, and go home.”

“Then it shall be so.”

Though she did not look up at him, she started.  There was a difference between the proposition and the covenant, which she had felt only too quickly.

“I feared it would come to this,” she murmured, her countenance meekly fixed.  “I don’t complain, Angel, I—­I think it best.  What you said has quite convinced me.  Yes, though nobody else should reproach me if we should stay together, yet somewhen, years hence, you might get angry with me for any ordinary matter, and knowing what you do of my bygones, you yourself might be tempted to say words, and they might be overheard, perhaps by my own children.  O, what only hurts me now would torture and kill me then!  I will go—­to-morrow.”