Rylton strides forward, and seizes her by both her arms.

“Supposing I don’t let you go!” says he.

“I shan’t ask your permission,” returns she calmly, submitting to his violent pressure without a wince—­a pressure unmeant—­unknown by him, to do him justice.  “And I need not!  Think of the detestable life we have lived together!  Don’t I know that you hated it as much as I did—­perhaps more!  No,” softly.  “Not more!"

Rylton loosens his hold of her, and steps back.  If she had said a thousand words, they could not have brought her meaning more forcibly home to him than these two, “Not more."

“Oh, think!” cries she, clasping her hands in a sort of ecstasy.  “To-day—­this very day—­in an hour or so, we shall be miles, and miles, and miles away from each other!  What more can you desire?”

Rylton brings his hand down upon the table before him.

“Nothing!” returns he hoarsely.  “I would rather die than subject myself to the misery I have been enduring with you.  I would, by heaven!”

“Ah, you speak the truth at last,” says she.  “Well”—­she moves towards him and holds out her hand—­“now that you have spoken, I am satisfied.  Good-bye; I hope I shall never see you again!”

He thrusts her hand aside.

“I shall remember that,” says he.

“That was why I said it,” returns she.  She has flung up her head, angered a little perhaps even in this desperate moment at his rejection of her hand.  Her eyes are gleaming.  Her beauty seems to shine out—­to grow upon him.  Maurice regards her curiously even now—­now, when she is going for ever. How can so bitter a spirit dwell in so sweet a temple?  “Will you not say good-bye, then?” says she.

“No—­never.”

She turns away deliberately and leaves the room.

CHAPTER XVIII.

HOW MARGARET STEPS INTO THE BREACH, AND LEARNS THAT ALL PEACEMAKERS
ARE NOT BLESSED.

“It is quite the wisest thing to be done at present,” says Margaret.  “I do hope, Maurice, you will not object to the arrangement.”

She regards him anxiously.  It is an hour later, and the carriage has been ordered to be at the door in fifteen minutes.  Margaret has come to bid Maurice good-bye, and say a few words to him.

_ “I!_ What have I got to do with it?” he laughs contemptuously. "She has arranged everything.  The farther she goes from me the better.  I am sorry that the resting-place she has chosen is so near.  Park Lane as usual, I suppose, Margaret?  But it won’t last, my dear girl.  She will go farther afield soon.”

“You think her fickle, I don’t,” says Margaret gravely.  “You have misjudged her all along.  I believe she loves me.  I believe,” slowly, “she has a great capacity for loving.”

“Are you alluding to her capacity for loving Mr. Hescott?”