"Gerrit doesn't care," she said.

"How do you know?" he demanded. "I cannot agree with you. I don't find a
great deal in him to admire, he is too simple and transparent; but
there's no doubt of this, he is faithful. One idea, one affection, is all
his head will hold."

"That's a beautiful trait." A palpable wistfulness settled over her.

"It's greatly admired," he agreed; "although not by me. I believe in
taking what is yours, what you need, from life. I suppose that I have
been away from proprieties so long that they have lost their importance.
They seem to me of no greater weight than barriers of straw. But, of
course, that mightn't suit you; probably, living in Salem as you have,
its opinion is valuable."

"Salem!" she exclaimed bitterly. "What has it ever been to me but an
unfair judgment? I owe Salem no consideration; I can't see that I owe
any to life."

"I don't want to insist on that," he proceeded deliberately. "The tragedy
of your position is that married to Ammidon everything in the past would
have been overlooked, forgotten. Even now--" he stopped with a gesture
indicating the presence still of large possibilities.

God, what a vacillating fool the girl was! He could say no more at
present, and he rose, leaving the room with Nettie staring dully across
the table. He went outside, to the grass fronting on the harbor. Here,
last night, he had thrown the opium into the water. It seemed to him
that he had lived through a complete existence since then: the presence