“Never!”
“Did he love you?”
“I believe, so far as he knew how to love anything,—he did.”
“And now?”
She waved her hand impatiently.
“He has forgotten. He was shallow, and he was fond of life. He has found consolation long ago. Do not talk of him. Do not dare to speak of him again! Oh, why do you make me humble myself so?”
“He may not have forgotten. He may have repented. He may be longing for you now,—and suffering. Should we be sinless then?”
She swept from her place, and stood before him with flashing eyes.
“I forbid you to remind me of my shame. I forbid you to remind me that I, too, like those poor women on the street, have been bought and sold for money! I have worked out my own emancipation. I am free. It was while I was living with him as his wife that I sinned,—for I hated him! Speak to me no more of that time! If you cannot forget it, you had better go!”
He stretched out his hands and held hers tightly.