'I don't think he ought to come so much.
Forgive me, dear!' 'You only think what I have thought for a long time,' she said, in a low voice, without raising her eyes.

'But to-day I sent for him.' 'Because ?'--Lord Findon's face expressed a quick and tender anxiety.
'I want to persuade him--to marry Elsie Bligh.' Lord Findon made a hurried exclamation, drew her to him, kissed her on the brow, and then, releasing her, turned away.
'I might have known--what you would do,' he said, in a muffled voice.
'I ought to have done it long ago,' she said, passionately; then, immediately curbing herself, she turned deliberately to a vase of roses that stood near and began to rearrange them, picking out a few faded blooms and throwing them on the wood-fire.
Lord Findon watched her, the delicate, drooping figure in its grey dress, the thin hand among the roses.
'Eugenie!--tell me one thing!--you are in the same mind as ever about the divorce ?' She made a sign of assent.
'Just the same.

I am Albert's wife--unless he himself asks me to release him--and then the release would only be--for him.' 'You are too hard on yourself, Eugenie!' cried Lord Findon.

'I vow you are! You set an impossible standard.' 'I am his wife'-- she repeated, gently--'while he lives.

And if he sent for me--at any hour of the day or night--I would go.' Lord Findon gave an angry sigh.
'You can't wonder, Eugenie,' he said, impetuously, 'that I often wish his death.' A shudder ran through her.
'Don't, papa! Never, never wish that.