Therefore she recognized that Bonbright and herself were embarked on one of these unstable, experimental craft.  She saw, as he did not, that it was unseaworthy and must founder at the first touch of storm.  She pinned no false hopes to it; recognized it as a makeshift, welcome to her only as a reprieve—­and that it must soon be discarded for a vessel whose planking was reality and whose sails were woven of normal stuff.

As the days went by and they were settled in their little flat, living the exotic life which temporarily solved their problem, she knew it could not last; feared it might dissolve at any moment.  Inevitable signs of the gust that should destroy it had been apparent...and her dread returned.  Even Bonbright was able to see that his plan was not a perfect success.

If it had not been for Dulac. ...  He complicated the thing unendurably. ...  If Bonbright were still heir apparent to the Foote dynasty, and her plan might be carried out. ...  She felt a duty toward Dulac—­she had promised to hold him always in her thoughts, felt he was entitled to a sort of spiritual loyalty from her.  And, deprived of him, she fancied her love for him was as deep as the sea and as enduring as time. ...

Long days alone, with only the slightest labor to occupy her hands and mind, gave her idle time—­fertile soil for the raising of a dark crop of morbid thoughts.  She brooded much, and, brooding, became restless, unhappy, and she could not conceal it from Bonbright when he came home eagerly for his dinner, ready to take up with boyish hope the absurd game he had invented.  She allowed herself to think of Dulac; indeed, she forced herself to think of him. ...

Five days she had been married, when, going to the door in answer to the bell, she opened it, to find Dulac standing there.  She uttered a little cry of fright and half closed the door.  He held it open with his knee.

Sudden terror, not of him, but of herself, caused her to thrust against the door with all her strength, but he forced it open slowly and entered.

“Go away,” she said, shrinking from him and standing with her back against the wall.  “Go away. ...”

“I stayed away as long as I could,” he said.  “Now I’m not going away--until we’ve had a talk.”

“There’s nothing for us to—­say,” she whispered.  “You must be crazy—­ to come here.”

He was laboring under excitement.  She could see the smoldering fire in his black eyes; it was plain that he was worn, tired, a man fighting in the last ditch.  His hold upon himself was not secure, but she could not be sorry for him now.  The possibilities his presence suggested terrified her and excluded all other thoughts.

He stood with his burning eyes upon her face, not speaking; staring.  “Go away,” she begged, but he shook his head.

“You’ve been cheated,” he said, hoarsely.  “It doesn’t matter if you gave yourself to him for the reason you said you did—­or for his money.  You’re cheated. ...  His kind always cheats.  You’re getting nothing. ...  Are you going to stand it?  That’s what I came to find out. ...  Are you going to stand it?”