no one suspects. I shall not be there; you will never see me
again, and you will have an opportunity of undoing your mistake--
our mistake."

She listened. Hers was not a great nature, and the desire to
obtain happiness without paying the price was strong upon her. As
for his good name, what could that matter? he urged. People would
only say that he had gone back to the evil from which he had
emerged, and few would be surprised. His life would go on much as
it had done, and she would only be pitied.

She quite understood his plan; it seemed mean of her to accept his
proposal, and she argued feebly against it. But he overcame all
her objections. For his own sake, he told her, he would prefer the
scandal to be connected with his name rather than with that of his
wife. As he unfolded his scheme, she began to feel that in
acquiescing she was conferring a favour. It was not the first
deception he had arranged for the public, and he appeared to be
half in love with his own cleverness. She even found herself
laughing at his mimicry of what this acquaintance and that would
say. Her spirits rose; the play that might have been a painful
drama seemed turning out an amusing farce.

The thing settled, he rose to go, and held out his hand. As she
looked up into his face, something about the line of his lips smote
upon her.

"You will be well rid of me," she said. "I have brought you
nothing but trouble."