"You are wonderfully attractive, Stefan; you fascinate me as a panther
fascinates by its lithe grace, and your mind has the light and shade of
running brooks."
Stefan looked pleased.
"But," she went on, her lids still drooping, "I must have harmony. In an
atmosphere of discords I cannot live. Of your present discordant mood, my
friend, I _am_ tired, and I could not permit myself to continue to
feel bored. When I am bored, I change my milieu."
"You are no more bored than I am, I assure you," he snapped rudely.
"It is such remarks as those," breathed Felicity, "which make love
impossible." Her eyes closed.
He pushed back his chair. "Oh, my dear girl, do have some sense of
humor," he said, fumbling for a cigarette.
Yo San entered with a folded newspaper, and a plate of letters for
Felicity. She handed one to Stefan. "Monsieur Adolph leave this," she
said.
Disregarding the paper, Felicity glanced through her mail, and abstracted
a thick envelope addressed in Constance's sprightly hand. Stefan's letter
was from Mary; he moved to the end of the balcony and tore it open. A
banker's draft fell from it.
"Good-bye, Stefan," he read, "I can't forgive you. What you
have done shames me to the earth. You have broken our marriage.
It was a sacred thing to me--now it is profaned.
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