'No, it is not madness. I know all about you, Ralph told me
everything.'

'It surprises me very much that he should have spoken about me. It was
not like him. I hope that he didn't tell you, that he didn't suggest
that there were any improper relations between me and him.'

'I daresay that you were virtuous, more or less, as far as your own
body is concerned. Faugh! Women like you make virtue seem odious.'

'I cannot discuss such questions with you,' Mildred said timidly, and,
swinging her parasol vaguely, she tried to pass Ellen by. But it was
difficult to get by. The picture she had admired the other day blocked
the way. Mildred's eyes glanced at it vindictively.

'Yes,' said Ellen in her sad doleful voice, 'You can look at it. I sat
for it. I'm not ashamed, and perhaps I did more good by sitting for it
than you'll do with your painting.... But look at him--there he lies.
He might have been a great artist if he had not met you and I should
have been a happy woman. Now I've nothing to live for.... You said
that you didn't know of my existence till the other day. But you knew
that, in making that man love you, you were robbing another woman.'

'That is very subtle.'

'You knew that you did not love him, and that it could end only in
unhappiness. It has ended in death.'

Mildred looked at the cold face, so claylike, and trembled. The horror
of the situation crept over her; she had no strength to go, and