"Perhaps I would better go first since Mr. Lorraine is so exacting and distrustful of a friend," she interposed. "Good-bye, Montague," giving him her hand; "I seem to be unfortunate lately with all who are disposed to be nice to me. It won't always be so, I hope; I am not all bad!" she smiled.
And with never a look at Lorraine, she passed in front of him and went down the path toward town.
Lorraine watched her go—and Pendleton watched Lorraine. When she had passed around the bend, the former turned slowly and encountered the latter's eyes.
"Pendleton," said he impulsively, "I apologize! I didn't mean it—I think I'm crazy—I must be crazy. Won't you shake hands with me?"
"Of course I will, Lorraine," Pendleton replied. "And you don't need to apologize to me—apologize to Stephanie. She is the one you owe it to."
Lorraine's face hardened.
"What do you think she owes me?" he asked.
"We are not computing the balance on the Amherst affair—we are dealing with the present instance, and in it you were wholly at fault. Because she slipped once, doesn't imply that she slips constantly, nor does it excuse you for assuming that fact. Good God! man, give your wife credit for regretting her mistake and wanting to live it down—it's the normal and rational way to look at it. Be a little charitable in your view—Stephanie needs it—we all need it."
"Do you mean that I should not divorce her—that I should take her back?"