She said in a low contemptuous voice: "Better resort to that for your own sake than do what you are doing to Miss Suydam."
"What am I doing to Miss Suydam?"
"Making love to her."
He sat, eyes idly following the slight swaying motion of her hammock, the smile still edging his lips.
"Don't worry about Miss Suydam," he said; "she can take care of herself. What I want to say is this: Once out of mistaken motives—which nobody, including yourself, would ever credit—I gave you all I had to give—my name.... It's not much of a name; but I thought you could use it. I was even fool enough to think—other things. And as usual I succeeded in injuring where I meant only kindness. Can you believe that?"
"I—think you meant it kindly," she said under her breath. "It was my fault, Louis. I do not blame you, if you really cared for me. I've told you so before."
"Yes, but I was ass enough to think you cared for me."
She lay in her hammock, looking at him across the crimson-fringed border.
"There are two ways out of it," he said; "one is divorce. Have you changed your mind?"
"What is the other?" she asked coldly.