“Do not send me from you like this,” entreats Rylton, in a voice that trembles.  Her tears cut him to the heart.  He is so close to her that he has only to put out his hand to catch her—­to take her to him, and yet——­“Think, Tita!  We have got to live out our lives, whether we like it or not. Can we not live them out together?”

“We cannot,” says Tita, in a low but distinct voice.  She turns to him proudly.  “Have you forgotten?” says she.  Her poor little face is stained with tears, but he sees no disfigurement in it; he has but one desire, and that is to take her into his arms and kiss those tears away from it for ever.

“Forget!  Do you think I shall ever forget?  It is my curse that I shall always remember.  But that is at an end, Tita.  I swear it!  I hope I shall never see her again.  If you wish it—­I——­”

“I wish nothing with regard to either her or you,” interrupts Tita, her breath coming a little quickly.  “It is nothing to me.  I do not care.”

“Don’t say that,” says Rylton hoarsely.  He is fighting his battle inch by inch.  “Give me some hope!  Is one sin to condemn a man for ever?  I tell you all that is done.  And you—­if you love no one—­give me a chance!”

“Why should I trouble myself so far?” says she, with infinite disdain.

At this Rylton turns away from her.  He goes to the window, and stands there gazing out, but seeing nothing.

“You are implacable—­cold, heartless,” says he, in a low tone, fraught with hidden meaning.

“Oh, let us leave hearts out of the discussion,” cries Tita scornfully.  “And, indeed, why should we have any discussions?  Why need we talk to each other at all?  This interview”—­ clenching her handkerchief into a ball—­“what has it done for us?  It has only made us both wretched!” She takes a step nearer to him.  “Do—­do promise me you will not seek another.”

“I cannot promise you that.”

“No?” She turns back again.  “Well—­go away now, at all events,” says she, sighing.

“Not until I have said what is on my mind,” says Rylton, with determination.

“Well, say it”—­frowning.

“I will!  You are my wife, and I am your husband, and I think it is your duty to live with me.”

She looks at him for a long time, as if thinking.

“I’ll tell you what you think,” says she slowly, “that it will add to your respectability in the eyes of your world to have your wife living in your house, and not in Margaret’s.”

“I don’t expect to be generously judged by you,” says he.  “But even as you put it there is sense in it.  If our world——­”

“Yours! yours!” interrupts she angrily—­that old wound had always rankled.  “It is not my world!  I have nothing to do with it.  I do not belong to it.  Your mother showed me that, even so long ago as when we were first”—­there is a little perceptible hesitation—­“married”.