“No...” she said, weakly.

“Yes, my wife. ...  I want you back and I’m going to have you back. ...  With the bringing up you’ve had, you’re not going to let this convention—­this word—­marriage—­hold you. ...  You’re coming with me.”

The thing was possible.  She saw the possibility of it, the danger that she might yield.  The man’s power drew her.  She wanted to go; she wanted to believe his sophistry, but there was a stanchness of soul in her that continued to resist.

“No...” she said, again.

“You’ll come,” he said, “because you can’t stand it.  I know. ...  Every time he touches you you want to scream.  I know.  It’s torture. ...  He’ll find out.  Don’t you think he’ll find out you don’t love him—­how you feel when he comes near you?  And what then?...  You’ll come to me willingly now—­or you’ll come when he pushes you out.”

“He’ll—­not—­find out.”

Dulac laughed.  “Anybody but a young fool would have known before this. ...But I don’t want to wait for that.  I want you now.”  He came toward her eagerly to take her in his arms.  She could not move; her knees refused to carry her from him. ...Her senses swam.  If he touched her it would be the end—­she knew it would be the end.  If he seized her in his arms she would never be able to escape.  His will would master her will.  Yet she could not move—­she was under his spell.  It was only subconsciously that she wanted to escape.  It was only the true instinct in her that urged her to escape.

His arms were reaching out for her now; in an instant his hands would touch her; she would be clutched tightly to him—­and she would be lost. ...

Her back was against the wall. ...In that supreme instant, the instant that stood between her and the thing that might be, the virtue in her recoiled, the stanchness asserted itself, the command to choose the better from the worse course made itself heard to her will.  She cried out inarticulately, thrust out with terrified arms, and pushed him from her.

“Don’t touch me,” she cried.  “What you say is not true.  I know. ...I’m his wife—­and—­you must go.  You must—­never come back. ...Bonbright is my husband—­and I’ll—­stay with him. ...I’ll do what I’ve got to do.  I sha’n’t listen to you.  Go—­please, oh, please go—­ now.”

The moment had come to Dulac and he had not been swift enough to grasp it.  He realized it, realized he had failed, that nothing he could do or say would avail him now. ...He backed toward the door, never removing his eyes from her face.

“You’re my wife,” he said.  “You won’t come now, but you’ll come. ...I’ll make you come.”  He stopped a moment in the door, gazing at her with haggard eyes. ...  “And you know it,” he said.  Then he closed the door, and she was alone.

She sank to the floor and covered her face with her hands, not to hide her tears—­for there were no tears to flow—­but because she was ashamed and because she was afraid. ...She knew how close she had been to yielding, how narrow had been the margin of her rescue—­and she was afraid of what might happen next time, of what might happen when her life with Bonbright became unbearable, as she knew it must become unbearable.