Montague’s voice was very low; and Mrs. Winnie sat with her hands clasped, and her eyes riveted upon his face.  “I saw her die,” he said.  “And that was all.  I have never forgotten it.  I made up my mind then that I had done wrong; and that never again while I lived would I offer my love to a woman, unless I could devote all my life to her.  So you see, I am afraid of love.  I do not wish to suffer so much, or to make others suffer.  And when anyone speaks to me as you did, it brings it all back to me—­it makes me shrink up and wither.”

He paused, and the other caught her breath.

“Understand me,” she said, her voice trembling.  “I would not ask any pledges of you.  I would pay whatever price there was to pay—­I am not afraid to suffer.”

“I do not wish you to suffer,” he said.  “I do not wish to take advantage of any woman.”

“But I have nothing in the world that I value!” she cried.  “I would go away—­I would give up everything, to be with a man like you.  I have no ties—­no duties—­”

He interrupted her.  “You have your husband—­” he said.

And she cried out in sudden fury—­“My husband!”

“Has no one ever told you about my husband?” she asked, after a pause.

“No one,” he said.

“Well, ask them!” she exclaimed.  “Meantime, take my word for it—­I owe nothing to my husband.”

Montague sat staring into the fire.  “But consider my own case,” he said. “I have duties—­my mother and my cousin—­”

“Oh, don’t say any more!” cried the woman, with a break in her voice.  “Say that you don’t love me—­that is all there is to say!  And you will never respect me again!  I have been a fool—­I have ruined everything!  I have flung away your friendship, that I might have kept!”

“No,” he said.

But she rushed on, vehemently—­“At least, I have been honest—­give me credit for that!  That is how all my troubles come—­I say what is in my mind, and I pay the price for my blunders.  It is not as if I were cold and calculating—­so don’t despise me altogether.”

“I couldn’t despise you,” said Montague.  “I am simply pained, because I have made you unhappy.  And I did not mean to.”

Mrs. Winnie sat staring ahead of her in a sombre reverie.  “Don’t think any more about it,” she said, bitterly.  “I will get over it.  I am not worth troubling about.  Don’t you suppose I know how you feel about this world that I live in?  And I’m part of it—­I beat my wings, and try to get out, but I can’t.  I’m in it, and I’ll stay in till I die; I might as well give up.  I thought that I could steal a little joy—­you have no idea how hungry I am for a little joy!  You have no idea how lonely I am!  And how empty my life is!  You talk about your fear of making me unhappy; it’s a grim jest—­but I’ll give you permission, if you can!  I’ll ask nothing—­no promises, no sacrifices!  I’ll take all the risks, and pay all the penalties!”