“Coward!” she hissed, “to talk to me in this way.”

“I am not finding fault with you the least in the world.  You acted naturally on the principles of self-interest and self-preservation.  You wanted me to marry you, but I could not do that under the circumstances.  By Jove! though, I did more for you than I ever did for any other living woman and with less reward—­with no reward at all, in fact.  When your time was up at Rockhold I settled an income on you, and afterward, in addition to that, I gave you that beautiful cottage, elegantly furnished from basement to roof.  And what did I ever get in return for all that?  Flatteries and fair words—­nothing more.  You were as cold as a stone, Rose.”

“I would not give my love upon any promise of marriage, but only for marriage itself.”

“And that you know I could not offer you, and you also knew why I could not.”

“Poltroon! to reproach me with the great calamity of my childhood.”

“I repeat that I do not reproach you at all.  I am only stating the facts, for which I do not blame you in the least, though they prevented the possibility of my ever thinking of marriage with you.  I gave you a house furnished, land, and an income to insure you the comforts, luxuries, and elegances of life.  I did not bargain with you beforehand.  I thought surely you would, as you led me to believe that you would, give me love in return for all these.  But no.  As soon as you were secure in your possessions you turned upon me and said that I should not even visit you at your house without marriage.  Now, what have you to complain of?”

“This! that you have broken faith with me!”

“In what way, pray you?”

“You swore that, if you did not marry me, no more would you ever marry any woman.”

“If you would love me.  Not if you would not.  Besides, I had not seen my sweet wood violet then,” he added, aggravatingly.

She turned upon him, her eyes flashing blue fire.

“I will be revenged!” she said.

“Be anything you like, my dear, only do not be melodramatic.  It’s bad form.  Come, now, Rose, you have your house and your income.  You are still young, and much handsomer than ever.  Be happy, my dear.  And now I really must leave you and run to the train.”

“Go.  I will not detain you.  I came here only to tell you that I will be revenged.  I have told you that and have no more to say.”

She turned and went down the hill toward the cottage in the dell.

Mr. Fabian hurried to the train and sprang on board just as it began to move.

“Fabian!  Oh, Fabian!” cried the alarmed bride, “you were almost knocked under the wheels!”

“All right, my dear little love.  I am safe now,” he laughed.

“Where is my tea?”

“Oh, my dear child,” exclaimed the conscience-stricken man.  “I am so very sorry!  But the tea was detestable—­perfectly detestable!  I could not bring you such stuff.  I am so very sorry, Violet, my precious.”