"I'm not asking you to overlook it. Maybe you'll spare Christine the
knowledge of it--not for my sake, but for hers."
"Tom, don't you feel that you owe _me_ something?" she asked
steadily.
"Everything. I'm going to pay, too. I took you from a home like this
and--Oh, well, it won't do any good to bring it all up again. Let's--"
"You owe me a little happiness and peace, Tom, after all these years."
"Oh, I'll go away all right. This is the last time you'll ever see
me."
"It isn't that that I ask. There was a time when we were happy, you
and I. I do not forget the old days, before you--I mean, when we were
working together, you and I, to get control of the circus. Not that I
liked the life--God knows I did not! but that we were striving for
big, good things. I--"
"You got your money back," he broke in weakly. "That's more than I
did."
"What had I ever done to you, Tom, that you should sell me as if I
were a concubine to--"
"Didn't I tell you it was whiskey--and cards?" he cried fiercely.
"True. You _did_ tell me that," she admitted, closing her eyes.
He looked at the lowered lids for a moment and then swore softly to
himself--not an oath of anger but of despair.
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