It was not only that he would never forgive her, but that she could never now be brought to forgive him.

He had stabbed her while her words of love were warmest in his ear.

His foul suspicions had been present to his mind even while she was caressing him.

He had never known what it was to give himself up really to his love for one moment.

While she was seated on his knee, with her head pressed against his, his intellect had been busy with the key and the desk, as though he were a policeman looking for a thief, rather than a lover happy in the endearments of his mistress.