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 in arevolting manner. Thought after thought flashed pellmell through her brain. Vainly she looked about her for some method of es- cape; vainly she listened for a step on the stair, a hand at the door. If Perseus would come—if he would only come!

“That chin of yours is wonderful, Irene; I must kiss that scornful mouth to subjection. It is a long time since you have kissed me— and you are my wife. Come, kiss me now, and tell me how sorry you are. We'll let by- gones be bygones, only you must be more cir- cumspect in the future. You see, you are my wife, and Lady Brenton is a woman of stand- ing in the county. But we'll say no more about that since it distresses you. No one detests more than I these mutual recrimina- tions, or these unceasing references to what is past, dead. You are superb, Irene. How could you think I would let you slip out of my life. . . into the arms of another? You of all women.”

She sat staring at him, fascinated. But no words came; perhaps it seemed that words would serve her little in this instance. Yet through her mind a half-fledged thought was

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