It was impossible to go on living like this.  Unless she asserted her womanhood he would gradually degrade her to his own level.  She suffered silently, atrociously, feeling her degradation all the more keenly because of her intelligence which rebelled against the injustice and ignominy of it.  Her womanhood revolted against this continual, humiliating subjection to the will of the male, of which her sex was the victim.  She suffered as thousands of women have done before her, as only a woman can suffer when in spite of herself, against her own inclination and will, she is forced to submit to the unwelcome caresses of a man she no longer loves, a man she can no longer respect.  There was only one way out.  He must either swear never again to touch a drop of liquor or she would leave him forever.  Yes, that was the only way.  She would rather suffer any privation than put up with his brutality.

Then, in calmer moments, she hesitated.  It would not do to be too hasty.  Perhaps he would never again offend in that way.  He had broken each promise, it was true, but he seemed so sorry each time, so filled with remorse.  Ought she to give him another trial?  In her dilemma she decided to ask counsel of her sister.  She would not tell Fanny everything, of course; that would be too dreadful, too humiliating.  She would merely ask her what she herself would do under similar provocation.

An opportunity soon presented itself.  Frequently during the Winter she invited Fanny to go with her to the opera, and sometimes when there were to be several outings, her sister would come and stay at the Stafford home for several days, bringing her baby with her, a suite having been set apart for the Gillies’ exclusive use.  The house was so large that Virginia could well spare the room.  Besides, she liked to have her sister’s companionship.

It was on the last night of one of these protracted visits that Robert Stafford’s wife found the long-waited-for chance to unburden her heart.  She and Fanny had been to the opera and just returned home.  Virginia was in her boudoir, still wearing the magnificent gown and wonderful jewels which made her the cynosure of every eye in the Metropolitan’s aristocratic horse-shoe circle.  Fanny had gone to her own apartment and Josephine, the French maid, took from her mistress her cloak and opera bag.  While the girl disposed of the articles she chattered in French: 

“Je pensais que Madame rentrerait un peu plus tard—­”

“Yes,” replied Virginia languidly, “we returned much earlier than we expected.  The opera was stupid—­”

Josephine, a born diplomat, stopped short and, going into ecstasies over her mistress’s gown, exclaimed rapturously: 

“Oh, que Madame est jolie ce soir, vraiement ravissante!”

“I’m glad the gown looks well,” replied Virginia with an air of weary indifference as she sank down on a sofa.

“Mais oui—­Madame n’a jamais ete si jolie.”