loathed her from the bottom of my heart. I think I said my life had been without a single ray of joy; but that now, knowing what I knew, it would be worse than hell if I went on living with her. I couldn't do it, I warned her. 'For God's sake, don't make a scandal,' she implored. 'Anything but that! Spare me that.'
"'We can remain under the same roof, if you choose,' I said, 'though I'd rather go away and never see your face again. But whatever you decide, nothing can induce me to live with you again as your husband.'"
"That seemed to strike her to the soul. 'Kill me, if you like!' she moaned, sobbing the most agonizing sobs. Even then I ought to have been sorry for her, outraged as I was. But my heart seemed seared. I could feel no pity.
"'You deserve to die,' I answered. And then I turned and went away, leaving her there alone. How I could do it, I don't know, but I did. I was hardly human. Those were the last words we spoke to each other. I walked home mechanically, not caring where I went, or what I might do, until—I saw you. You know now what I was suffering, Terry. To come on you like that, just after I had found out the truth—such a truth! But even so, there is no excuse for me—none."
"We're not seeking excuses, Ian, you and I," Terry said. "I knew you were suffering. But of course I
