"What can it matter to you whether he returns or not, child," rejoined Mrs. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. ’ ‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone. ” She replied. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. Twelve years ago! It is an awful retrospect. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. "And, oh! forgive me, though I can never forgive myself, for the misery I have caused you.
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