It was the same woman that he had driven with, laughed with, flirted with a hundred times--the woman that in the natural course of things (Tyson apart) he would infallibly have made love to; and yet in one day and one night her prettinesses, her impertinences had fallen from her like a frivolous garment, leaving only the simple eternal lines of her womanhood.

Henceforth, whatever he might think, he would not think of her to-morrow as he had thought yesterday; whatever he felt to-morrow, his feeling would never lose that purifying touch of tragic pity.

Mrs.Nevill Tyson would never be the same woman that he had known before.

And yet--she was a fool, a fool; and he doubted if her sufferings would make her any wiser.
Tyson looked at his watch.

"Look there, Stanistreet, it's two o'clock--there must be some blundering.