like Shakspeare. He has six toes, dresses in red, and never cleans his teeth. Hear Him!"
Denton's voice became audible in a gap in the uproar. "I never ought to have married you," he was saying. "I have wasted your money, ruined you, brought you to misery. I am a scoundrel . . . Oh, this accursed world!"
She tried to speak, and for some moments could not. She grasped his hand. "No," she said at last.
A half-formed desire suddenly became determination. She stood up. "Will you come?"
He rose also. "We need not go there yet."
"Not that. But I want you to come to the flying stages—where we met. You know? The little seat."
He hesitated. "Can you?" he said, doubtfully.
"Must," she answered.
He hesitated still for a moment, then moved to obey her will.
And so it was they spent their last half-day of freedom out under the open air in the little seat under the flying stages where they had been wont to meet five short years ago. There she told him, what she could not tell him in the tumultuous public ways, that she did not repent even now of their marriage—that whatever
