making any defence. He had said all in that instant's cry, "Kathleen!"
--that one awakening feeling of his life so far. She had congealed the
word on his lips by her scorn, and now he was his old debonair,
dissipated self, with the impertinent monocle in his eye and a jest upon
his tongue.

"Do you want to know the worst they say?" she asked, growing pale to the
lips. "Go and stand behind the door of Jolicoeur's saloon. Go to any
street corner, and listen. Do you think I don't know what they say? Do
you think the world doesn't talk about the company you keep? Haven't I
seen you going into Jolicoeur's saloon when I was walking on the other
side of the street? Do you think that all the world, and I among the
rest, are blind? Oh, you fop, you fool, you have ruined my brother, you
have ruined my life, and I hate and despise you for a cold-blooded,
selfish coward!"

He made a deprecating gesture and stared--a look of most curious inquiry.
They had been married for five years, and during that time they had never
been anything but persistently courteous to each other. He had never on
any occasion seen her face change colour, or her manner show chagrin or
emotion. Stately and cold and polite, she had fairly met his ceaseless
foppery and preciseness of manner. But people had said of her, "Poor
Kathleen Steele!" for her spotless name stood sharply off from his
negligence and dissipation. They called her "Poor Kathleen Steele!" in
sympathy, though they knew that she had not resisted marriage with the
well-to-do Charley Steele, while loving a poor captain in the Royal
Fusileers. She preserved social sympathy by a perfect outward decorum,
though the man of the scarlet coat remained in the town and haunted the
places where she appeared, and though the eyes of the censorious world
were watching expectantly. No voice was raised against her. Her cold