"Charles," she said softly, "Charley, wait. Where are you going?"
"To the divorce courts, and then to hell."
"But you mustn't go away like this. I'm sorry, too. Wait!"
Suddenly moved by some swift, irresistible impulse, perhaps born of this unregulated scene where all seemly control seemed set aside, she put both her white bare arms about his neck and looked full into his eyes, her own eyes bright. He caught her white wrists in his hands; but did not put away her arms. He stood looking at her, frowning, uncertain. His blood flamed.
"It's disgrace," he said, "I admit it. I can't square it any way in the world. I'm sorry on your account—awfully sorry!" His blood flamed, flamed.
"Listen!" she said, panting, eager, her voice with some strange, new, compelling quality in it, foreign to her as to himself. "You mustn't go. You mustn't ruin the future of us all in just a minute of temper. Yen mustn't ruin yourself, or—me. Besides, there's Grace!"
"Oh, Grace!"
"But she's your wife."
"Not any longer. She's chosen for herself. She left me and would not come back. I'm going now. I'm on my own from this time."
"Why not?" she asked coolly. "But why wreak ruin on us all? You don't stop to think!"