She cast down her eyes, as a woman will when a question of modesty is
involved, then she raised them and said: "You did not know, then, that I
had left my husband?"

"Left him?"

"Yes. I have obtained a divorce. He was unfaithful to me."

"I see"--said Littleton with a sort of gasp--"I see. I did not know. You
never wrote to me."

"I did not feel like writing to any body. There was nothing to be done
but that."

Littleton regarded her with a perturbed, restless air.

"Then you live no longer at 25 Onslow Avenue?"

"Oh, no. I left there more than six months ago. I live in lodgings. I am
supporting myself by literary work. I am Mrs. Selma White now, and my
divorce has been absolute more than a month."

She spoke gravely and quietly, with less than her usual assurance, for
she felt the spell of his keen, eager scrutiny and was not averse to
yield at the moment to the propensity of her sex. She wondered what he
was thinking about. Did he blame her? Did he sympathize with her?

"Where are you going when you leave here?" he asked.

"Home--to my new home. Will you walk along with me?"