“It was understood before I agreed to marry you that I was to be free to follow my tastes and interests.  It is a paltry excuse that, because I left you alone for a week in pursuit of them, I am accessory to your sin.”

Babcock faced her sadly.  “The sin’s all mine,” he said.  “I can’t deny that.  But, Selma, I guess I’ve been pretty lonely ever since the baby died.”

“Lonely?” she echoed.  “Then my leaving you will not matter so much.  Here,” she said, slipping off her wedding-ring, “this belongs to you.”  She remembered Mrs. Earle’s proceeding, and though she had not yet decided what course to pursue in order to maintain her liberty, she regarded this as the significant and definite act.  She held out the ring, but Babcock shook his head.

“The law doesn’t work as quick as that, nor the church either.  You can get a divorce if you’re set on it, Selma.  But we’re husband and wife yet.”

“Only the husk of our marriage is left.  The spirit is dead,” she said sententiously.  “I am going away.  I cannot pass another night in this house.  If you will not take this ring, I shall leave it here.”

Babcock turned to hide the tears which blinded his eyes.  Selma regarded him a moment gravely, then she laid her wedding-ring on the table and went from the room.

She put her immediate belongings into a bag and left the house.  She had decided to go to Mrs. Earle’s lodgings where she would be certain to find shelter and sympathy.  Were she to go to her aunt’s she would be exposed to importunity on her husband’s behalf from Mrs. Farley, who was partial to Lewis.  Her mind was entirely made up that there could be no question of reconciliation.  Her duty was plain; and she would be doing herself an injustice were she to continue to live with one so weak and regardless of the honor which she had a right to demand of the man to whom she had given her society and her body.  His gross conduct had entitled her to her liberty, and to neglect to seize it would be to condemn herself to continuous unhappiness, for this overt act of his was merely a definite proof of the lack of sympathy between them, of which she had for some time been well aware at heart.  As she walked along the street she was conscious that it was a relief to her to be sloughing off the garment of an uncongenial relationship and to be starting life afresh.  There was nothing in her immediate surroundings from which she was not glad to escape.  Their house was full of blemishes from the stand-point of her later knowledge, and she yearned to dissociate herself, once and for all, from the trammels of her pitiful mistake.  She barely entertained the thought that she was without means.  She would have to support herself, of course, but it never occurred to her to doubt her ability to do so, and the necessity added a zest to her decision.  It would be plain sailing, for Mrs. Earle had more than once invited her to send copy to the Benham Sentinel, and there was no form of occupation which would be more to her liking than newspaper work.  It was almost with the mien of a prisoner escaped from jail that she walked in upon her friend and said: