“For it is self-evident,” he went on with anxious vivacity, “it is self-evident that, on the highest ground we haven’t the right—­no, we haven’t the right to intrude our miseries upon those who—­who naturally expect better things from us.  Every one wishes his own life and the life around him to be beautiful and pure.  Now, a scandal amongst people of our position is disastrous for the morality—­a fatal influence—­don’t you see—­upon the general tone of the class—­very important—­the most important, I verily believe, in—­in the community.  I feel this—­profoundly.  This is the broad view.  In time you’ll give me . . . when you become again the woman I loved—­and trusted. . . .”

He stopped short, as though unexpectedly suffocated, then in a completely changed voice said, “For I did love and trust you”—­and again was silent for a moment.  She put her handkerchief to her eyes.

“You’ll give me credit for—­for—­my motives.  It’s mainly loyalty to—­to the larger conditions of our life—­where you—­you! of all women—­failed.  One doesn’t usually talk like this—­of course—­but in this case you’ll admit . . .  And consider—­the innocent suffer with the guilty.  The world is pitiless in its judgments.  Unfortunately there are always those in it who are only too eager to misunderstand.  Before you and before my conscience I am guiltless, but any—­any disclosure would impair my usefulness in the sphere—­in the larger sphere in which I hope soon to . . .  I believe you fully shared my views in that matter—­I don’t want to say any more . . . on—­on that point—­but, believe me, true unselfishness is to bear one’s burdens in—­in silence.  The ideal must—­must be preserved—­for others, at least.  It’s clear as daylight.  If I’ve a—­a loathsome sore, to gratuitously display it would be abominable—­abominable!  And often in life—­in the highest conception of life—­outspokenness in certain circumstances is nothing less than criminal.  Temptation, you know, excuses no one.  There is no such thing really if one looks steadily to one’s welfare—­which is grounded in duty.  But there are the weak.” . . .  His tone became ferocious for an instant . . .  “And there are the fools and the envious—­especially for people in our position.  I am guiltless of this terrible—­terrible . . . estrangement; but if there has been nothing irreparable.” . . .  Something gloomy, like a deep shadow passed over his face. . . .  “Nothing irreparable—­you see even now I am ready to trust you implicitly—­then our duty is clear.”

He looked down.  A change came over his expression and straightway from the outward impetus of his loquacity he passed into the dull contemplation of all the appeasing truths that, not without some wonder, he had so recently been able to discover within himself.  During this profound and soothing communion with his innermost beliefs he remained staring at the carpet, with a portentously solemn face and with a dull vacuity of eyes that seemed to gaze into the blankness of an empty hole.  Then, without stirring in the least, he continued: