Scott arose with compressed lips and pale face. His arms were folded across his manly breast, a favorite attitude with him when laboring under any excitement.
“No, it is not. The house is at your disposal, just as ever. If you have found you have made so great a mistake, keep the society of your lady friends, and I will not trouble you, but for the sake of yourself, for the sake of my mother and sister, if not for me, do nothing to disgrace us.”
“You have no heart, Scott Wilmer,” she said, bursting into a flood of angry tears, “and the best thing we can do is to live apart.”
“One moment, Irene,” Scott said as she started to leave the room, but she heeded not his words, and closing the door with a crash, she went to her room and penned the following lines:
“Dearest: The end has come at last. Come to me at once and we will make arrangements for our departure. Your own,
R.”
Two days later she was busy packing her clothing. Very cautiously she worked, being careful not to come in contact with her husband.
June was all taken up with her harp lessons, learning, she knew, just because that important Guy Horton liked the music of it.
At the end of the third day, as Paul was passing her room, Irene called him in. Paul wondered that she should do him such an honor, and still more surprised was he when she asked him to do her a favor, to which Paul answered that he would if he could.
“I know you can,” she said, putting on one of her most bewitching smiles.