After walking for two or three times the length of the apartment, Mr.
Emerson threw himself on a sofa, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he did so.

At the same moment he heard a step in the passage, and the rustling of a woman's garments, which caused him to start again to his feet.

In moving his eyes met the form of Irene, who advanced toward him, and throwing her arms around his neck, sobbed, "Dear husband! can you, will you forgive my childish folly ?" His first impulse was to push her away, and he, even grasped her arms and attempted to draw them from his neck.

She perceived this, and clung to him more eagerly.
"Dear Hartley!" she said, "will you not speak to me ?" "Irene!" His voice was cold and deep, and as he pronounced her name he withdrew himself from her embrace.

At this she grew calm and stepped a pace back from him.
"Irene, we are not children," he said, in the same cold, deep voice, the tones of which were even and measured.