was going to say just now. I'll wait a bit till you're stronger and
better able to understand it. But there must be no more silly talk
of farewells between us. I won't allow it. You're mine now--a
thousand times more truly mine than ever you were Monteith's; and I
can't do without you. You must go back to your husband for the
present, I suppose,--the circumstances compel it, though I don't
approve of it; but you must see me again . . . and soon . . . and
often, just the same as usual. I won't go to your house, of course:
the house is Monteith's; and everywhere among civilised and
rational races the sanctity of the home is rightly respected. But
YOU yourself he has no claim or right to taboo; and if _I_ can help
it, he shan't taboo you. You may go home now to-night, dear one;
but you must meet me often. If you can't come round to my rooms--
for fear of Miss Blake's fetich, the respectability of her house--
we must meet elsewhere, till I can make fresh arrangements."

Frida gazed up at him in doubt. "But will it be RIGHT, Bertram?"
she murmured.

The man looked down into her big eyes in dazed astonishment. "Why,
Frida," he cried, half-pained at the question, "do you think if it
were WRONG I'd advise you to do it? I'm here to help you, to guide
you, to lead you on by degrees to higher and truer life. How can
you imagine I'd ask you to do anything on earth unless I felt
perfectly sure and convinced it was the very most right and proper
conduct?"

His arm stole round her waist and drew her tenderly towards him.
Frida allowed the caress passively. There was a robust frankness
about his love-making that seemed to rob it of all taint or tinge