"I loved you when we were married," he broke out.
"We both loved then—or thought we did—but we both have learned much, since that day at St. Luke's." She sat up and bent nearer to him. "And one of the things we have learned is that we are better apart—and I have proven it—by running away with another man. And you have proven it—by not following instantly and taking me from him—or killing him."
"What have I proven by my present attitude?" he demanded.
"Your magnanimity—but not your love. And as I said, love alone would justify a reconciliation now, or give the slightest warrant for the future."
For a time he made no answer, looking at her steadily with thoughtful eyes. At last he spoke.
"Am I to understand then that you refuse my offer?" he asked.
"I refuse!" she answered. "For both our sakes—yours as well as mine—I refuse your offer."
There was a finality in her manner that left him no present ground for hope. It was useless to argue further at this time, and he knew it. He arose to go. She arose also.
Then a sudden, irresistible impulse came over him. Scarce knowing what he did, nor the reason why he did it, he seized her in his arms and crushed her to him.
She fought him in silence; with all her strength she strove to break from his encircling arms—that held her only the tighter, while his face drew slowly nearer hers. Her breath came in fierce gasps, as closer and closer he pressed her—his lips ever nearer and nearer to her own.