She walked up and down in front of him. She was like a panther, with the same quick, nervous, gliding steps, and she was raging. She wore a tea-gown; he had once admired it. The light accentuated her piercing eyes, her mocking red lips.
“I shall not come to you until you send for me,” he said.
“And I shall never send for you. Marriage is a mistake. You believe all they say of me. I have never kissed any man but you, I did love you, I might love you if—”
“Your virtue in not kissing men is wonderful, but they may kiss you. I believe nothing about you, nor in your love for me, nor for anyone.”
“Daily life is so absorbing, the fine dust sifts in and deadens all feeling,” she said sadly.
“Does it? Well, now I must say good-bye.”
He took her hand.
“I trust you always. I cannot stay in this way. It is best for me to go and to forget.”
And so he left her.
She threw herself down on her sofa and buried her face in the cushions. “Best to go and to forget—to go and to forget.” This was the reward of a Regenerator of Matrimony.