Philip," for that last speech of his jarred on her ear. The tone of
unconscious condescension in it wounded the woman's sensitive pride;
self was too apparent, and the most generous words seemed to her
like bribes. This was not the lover she had dreamed of, the brave,
true man who gave her all, and felt it could not half repay the
treasure of her innocent, first love. This was not the happiness she
had hoped for, the perfect faith, the glad surrender, the sweet
content that made all things possible, and changed this work-a-day
world into a heaven while the joy lasted.

She had decided to say "yes," but her heart said "no" decidedly, and
with instinctive loyalty she obeyed it, even while she seemed to
yield to the temptation which appeals to three of the strongest
foibles in most women's nature,--vanity, ambition, and the love of
pleasure.

"You are very kind, but you may repent it, you know so little of
me," she began, trying to soften her refusal, but sadly hindered by
a feeling of contempt.

"I know more about you than you think; but it makes no difference,"
interrupted Mr. Fletcher, with a smile that irritated Christie, even
before she understood its significance. "I thought it would at
first, but I found I couldn't get on without you, so I made up my
mind to forgive and forget that my wife had ever been an actress."

Christie had forgotten it, and it would have been well for him if he
had held his tongue. Now she understood the tone that had chilled
her, the smile that angered her, and Mr. Fletcher's fate was settled
in the drawing of a breath.