"Oh, Nell! spare me that, I beg," pleaded Mr. Temple, with a heartbroken sob. "Oh, forgive me this great wrong; don't talk of separation; let me make you legally my wife, then we will go away to Europe—or anywhere you like—and I will be your slave—I will do my utmost to atone for the past and make you happy for the future. No one need ever know aught of this secret. Faxon is honor itself, and he assured me that no hint of it should ever escape his lips, and I am sure he would keep his word—Phil, you know that he can be depended upon."
"Yes," Philip gravely asserted, after a moment of hesitation, "I know, if Faxon said that he will abide by it. But, Mr. Temple," he resumed in a tone which was an indication of his own attitude, "I feel sure that my mother has received a shock from which she can never recover, and I agree with her that a separation will be the wisest measure to adopt under the circumstances."
"Let your mother speak for herself, if you please, Phil," Mr. Temple interrupted, as he braced himself in his chair and turned his haggard face toward the woman whom he adored.
The proud, beautiful worldling shivered as if an icy wind had blown over her, for she had loved this man who, for twelve almost idealistic years, she had regarded as her husband. She had scarce had a wish ungratified; she had enjoyed his wealth and been proud of her position in society.
But, as Philip had said, the shock which she had sustained had been one from which she could never rally, for it had killed both love and respect at one blow. She did not move or lift her glance to him as she said in an almost inaudible voice.
"Phil has stated it right—I can never forgive the fearful wrong that you have done me. We must part."
"How about—Minnie?" Mr. Temple questioned, a look of despair on his face.
It was an unfortunate question. It aroused all the lioness in the outraged woman, and she turned upon him with a burst of passion of which he had never imagined her capable.
"Minnie is mine!" she cried in a voice that rang shrilly through the room—"mine by the right of motherhood and—oh, God!—mine, exclusively mine, by right of the shame which you have entailed upon us both."
It was a terrible thrust, and William Temple threw out his hands with a gesture of keenest anguish, as if warding off the point of a dagger. He sat like one stunned for several moments, and there was no sound in the room.