The pose of her head is regal.
Braine staggers toward her, and drops on his knees. For an instant, there is a faint glow of tenderness in her face, but it flits across and does not stay. There is an added coldness in the iciness of her tone:
"I understand that I am not without value—as a wifely politician. I understand that you will suffer some inconvenience in my loss. I trust you can fill the vacant situation in time. I must resign—or perhaps 'give warning,' is the proper phrase. I go, at once."
She turns to Everet. He mechanically takes the hand she is stretching to him. She now ignores Braine. She loses her calm. She hurries toward the door, drawing Everet with her.
Braine follows. He is trying desperately to speak. His tongue refuses to obey his will. He can only utter some incoherent, inarticulate sounds. But the situation is perfectly clear to him. With a force that is rendering him powerless and dumb, every incident in the last five years is crowding upon his memory: his preoccupation; his mad struggle for power and political supremacy; his persistent requirements of this woman, who, he did not know, needed love instead of position; this woman, who starved on ambition, and cried for tenderness and affection; this woman he has loved better than honor—for has not she been uppermost in his mind when planning for advancement? She is leaving him! She is already unfaithful! She is gathering about her the wrap she has snatched from the hall-stand.
Everet is mechanically helping her. She opens the door. Everet's carriage is waiting for him at the foot of the steps. She has forgotten Braine. She grasps Everet's arm convulsively, and hurries down to the street. The door of Everet's brougham closes behind them and the carriage moves rapidly away.
Braine is staring into the dark. The stupefied servant touches him on the arm:
"Your breath is freezing on your mustache, sir."
"Is it?"