“What you said to me hurt,” she said.  “Do you think it would not be easy for me to persuade myself?  I believe in divorce with all my heart and soul and intelligence.  I know it is right and just.  But not for me....  Louis—­how can I do this thing to them?  How can I go to them and disclose myself as a common creature of common origin and primitive impulse, showing the crack in the gay gilding and veneer they have laboured to cover me with?...  I cannot....  I could endure the disgrace myself; I cannot disgrace them.  Think of the ridicule they would suffer if it became known that for two years I had been married, and now wanted a public divorce?  No!  No!  There is nothing to do, nothing to hope for....  If it is—­advisable—­I will tell them, and take your name openly....  I am so uncertain, so frightened at moments—­so perplexed.  There is no one to tell me what to do....  And, believe me, I am sorry for you—­I am deeply, deeply sorry!  Good-bye.”

“And I for you,” he said.  “Good-bye.”

She sat in her car, waiting, until the train started.

CHAPTER XVII

ECHOES

Some minutes later, on the northward speeding train, he left Portlaw playing solitaire in their own compartment, and, crossing the swaying corridor, entered the state-room opposite.  Miss Wilming was there, reading a novel, an enormous bunch of roses, a box of bonbons, and a tiny kitten on the table before her.  The kitten was so young that it was shaky on its legs, and it wore very wide eyes and a blue bow.

“Hello, Dolly,” he said pleasantly.  She answered rather faintly.

“What a voice—­like the peep of an infant sparrow!  Are you worrying?”

“A little.”

“You needn’t be.  Alphonse will make a noise, of course, but you needn’t mind that.  The main thing in life is to know what you want to do and do it.  Which I’ve never yet done in my life.  Zut!  Zut!!—­as our late Count Alphonse might say.  And he’ll say other remarks when he finds you’ve gone, Dolly.”  And Malcourt, who was a mimic, shrugged and raised his arms in Gallic appeal to the gods of wrath, until he mouthed his face into a startling resemblance to that of the bereft nobleman.

Then he laughed a little—­not very heartily; then, in a more familiar role, he sat down opposite the girl and held up one finger of admonition and consolation.

“The main thing, Dolly, was to get clear of him—­and all that silly business.  Yes?  No?  Bon!...  And now everything is cleared up between us, and I’ve told you what I’d do—­if you really wanted a chance.  I believe in chances for people.”

The girl, who was young, buried her delicate face in the roses and looked at him.  The kitten, balanced on tiny, wavering legs, stared hard at him, too.  He looked from girl to kitten, conscious of the resemblance, and managed to smother a smile.

“You said,” he repeated severely, “that you wanted a chance.  I told you what I could and would do; see that you live and dress decently, stand for your musical, dramatic, athletic, and terpsichorean education and drilling—­but not for one atom of nonsense.  Is that clear?”