it from her suddenly, almost roughly. The next moment he
apologized for his rudeness. "There is nothing worth reading in
the paper," he said, after begging her pardon. "You don't care
about politics, do you?"

Instead of answering, she looked at him attentively.

The heightened color which told of recent exercise, healthily
enjoyed, faded from her face. She was silent; she was pale. A
little confused, he smiled uneasily. "Surely," he resumed, trying
to speak gayly, "I haven't offended you?"

"There is something in the newspaper," she said, "which you don't
want me to read."

He denied it--but he still kept the newspaper in his own
possession. Her voice sank low; her face turned paler still.

"Is it all over?" she asked. "And is it put in the newspaper?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the Divorce."

He went back again to the window and looked out. It was the
easiest excuse that he could devise for keeping his face turned
away from her. She followed him.

"I don't want to read it, Herbert. I only ask you to tell me if
you are a free man again."