At last Noel rose and shook himself slightly as if shaking off a hypnotic spell. His face was a little pale and his eyes had a queer look. He walked over and put his hand on his friend's arm.
"Floriot," he said, gently, "between us there need be no talk of sympathy. You know that I feel your pain almost as much as if it were mine. But I see this thing from a different angle. Even before I heard your story I understood, of course, that she was guilty of grave misconduct. But it seems to me that she has been punished enough—and she has repented!"
Floriot's only reply was an exclamation of scorn and contempt.
"Then why should she have come back?" asked Noel.
"I don't think I told you that her lover is dead," replied Floriot, bitterly. Then he straightened up determinedly: "She shall never come into this house again!"
"She's your wife!" said Noel calmly.
"I won't have her near the boy!"
"He's her boy, too! And whatever becomes of your boy's mother now, my friend, you can take the responsibility."
Floriot stared at him in astonishment and anger.
"I! Responsible! For her?" he exclaimed.