“Noll, I can’t live this nun’s life——”
He put her gently from him:
“This is madness,” said he—“utter madness——”
He strode to the door—stopped half way:
“My God!” he said hoarsely.
She followed the gaze of his eyes to the white mantel:
“What is it, Noll?”
“There is the picture of the girl—to whom I—am—betrothed.”
She roused, and stepping, catlike, to the mantel, took down the little portrait of Betty and flung it upon the white marble hearth. The glass smashed, flying into a hundred tinkling pieces.
Noll watched her coldly: