their hours of perfect confidence.

"How can we say it, of all persons, my darling? Don't be
hidebound!"

"No," she smiled reluctantly, "I suppose we can't. But--but I
never feel like a divorced woman, Warren, I feel like a different
woman, but not as if that term fitted me. It sounds so--coarse.
Don't you think it does?"

"No, I never thought of it quite that way. Everyone makes
mistakes," he answered cheerfully.

"Don't you care--that it's true of me?" she asked.

"Are you trying to make me jealous, you gypsy!" he laughed. But
there was no answering laughter in her face.

"Yes, perhaps I am," she admitted, as if she were a little
surprised that it was so. And in her next slowly worded sentence
she discovered for herself another truth. "I mind it, Warren!" she
said. "I wish, with all my heart, that it wasn't so!"

"That isn't very consistent, sweet. Your life made you what you
were, the one woman in the world I could ever have loved. Why
quarrel with the process?"

"I wish you cared!" she said wistfully.

"Cared?"