"To mine."

She strove to laugh lightly, and failing, raised her glass to her lips
again.

"Now you know," he said, pitching his tones still lower. "I am glad
after all that we have had this plain understanding. I have never felt
unkindly toward you. I can't. What you did I might have prevented had I
known enough; but I cannot help it now; nor can you if you would."

"If I would," she repeated gaily--for the people opposite were staring.

"We are done for," he said, nodding carelessly to a servant to refill
his glass; "and I abide by conditions because I choose to; not," he
added contemptuously, "because a complacent law has tethered you to--to
the thing that has crawled up on your knees to have its ears rubbed."

The level insult to her husband stunned her; she sat there, upright, the
white smile stamped on her stiffened lips, fingers tightening about the
stem of her wine-glass.

He began to toss bread crumbs to the scarlet fish, laughing to himself
in an ugly way. "_I_ wish to punish you? Why, Alixe, only look at
_him_!--Look at his gold wristlets; listen to his simper, his lisp.
Little girl--oh, little girl, what have you done to yourself?--for you
have done nothing to me, child, that can match it in sheer atrocity!"

Her colour was long in returning.

"Philip," she said unsteadily, "I don't think I can stand this--"