She knew well enough that at almost any point she could have brought him back, playing upon the fidelity of habit.

At her voice, at her glance, for one word of her pleading, he would have come back to her feet, willing to remain.

But there was no vital strength of passion in him to keep him to her against her mere spoken will.

Once or twice, in spite of herself, her voice had softened; she had felt that her face betrayed her, and had turned it away; she had known that her hands were icy cold in his, and had hoped that he would not notice it and understand, and feel, perhaps, that his accursed habit of fidelity would not let him take the freedom she thrust upon him.

He had not seen, he had not felt, he had noticed nothing; and he was gone, glad to be free from her at last, willing to marry another woman, ready to forget what had held him by a thread which he respected, but not by a bond which he could not break.