to welcome me. I'm fearfully old-fashioned and Victorian, you see. As it is you're not dependent on me at all. While I'm out here I'm like any weakling who has married a millionaire's daughter for her money. The money I give to you is a mere drop in the bucket compared to what you already have. I'm like a poor relative who comes to you regularly—as a week-end guest."
She sat tensely listening, twisting her handkerchief. He was unfair. He must be. She felt his hands grip the back of her chair. His voice choked.
"There is no use trying to escape it, Carmelita. Our marriage has been a mistake—from the start. It is bound to end badly for both of us. I shall always love you—but I am ready to give you your freedom—and your happiness—if you want it." He turned away so that she would not see how near sobbing he was. He must get out, away. And, seizing his hat from the window seat, he stumbled toward the door and out into the night before she could recover and stop him.
When she comprehended what had happened she sprang from her chair with a hurt cry and rushed after him with outstretched arms.
"Dudley! For God's sake, you cannot leave me this way. I love you—I—"
