He shook his head again, slowly.
"That won't do, Jacqueline. Happiness is as much your right as is life itself. The world has a right to you, too; because you have lived nobly, and your work has been for the betterment of things. Whoever knows you honours you and loves you. It is such a woman as you who is of importance in the world. Men and women are better for you. You are needed. While I——"
He made a quick gesture; his lip trembled, but he smiled.
"So," he said, "I have thought it all out—there alone in my rooms to-night. There will be no more trouble, no anxiety for you. I'll step out of your life very quietly, Jacqueline, without any stir or fuss or any inconvenience to you, more than waiting for my continued absence to become flagrant and permanent enough to satisfy the legal requirements. And in a little while you will have your liberty again; the liberty and, very soon, the tranquillity of mind and the happiness out of which I have managed to swindle you."
She had been seated motionless, leaning forward in her chair to listen. After a few moments of silence which followed, the constraint of her attitude suddenly weakened her, and she slowly sank back into the depths of her big chair.
"And that," she said aloud to herself, "is what he has come here to tell me."
"Yes, Jacqueline."
She turned her head toward him, her cheek resting flat against the upholstered chintz back.
"One thing you have not told me, Jim."
"What is that?" he asked in a strained voice.