She was still very white, and one of her long, slender hands was pressed to her bosom as if to contain and repress tumult.

But her eyes were smiling, and yet it was a smile he could not read; it was compassionate, wistful, and yet tinged, it seemed to him, with mockery.
"I suppose," he said, "it would be expected of me in the circumstances to seek words in which to thank you for what you have done.

But I have no such words.

I am not grateful.

How could I be grateful?
You have destroyed the thing that I most valued in this world." "What have I destroyed ?" she asked him.
"Your own good name; the respect that was your due from all men." "Yet if I retain your own ?" "What is that worth ?" he asked almost resentfully.
"Perhaps more than all the rest." She took a step forward and set her hand upon his arm.