Irene turned her face partly away to get control of its expression.

“Sit down, Rose,” she said, as soon as she could trust herself to speak.

They sat down together, Rose troubled and wondering.  Irene then handed her friend the notice which she had received.  Miss Carman read it, but made no remark for some time.

“It has disturbed you,” she said at length, seeing that Irene continued silent.

“Yes, more than I could have believed,” answered Irene.  Her voice had lost its familiar tones.

“You have expected this?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were prepared for it.”

“And I am,” replied Irene, speaking with more firmness of manner.  “Expectation grows so nervous, sometimes, that when the event comes it falls upon us with a painful shock.  This is my case now.  I would have felt it less severely if it had occurred six months ago.”

“What will you do?” asked Rose.

“Do?”

“Yes.”

“What can I do?”

“Resist the application, if you will.”

“But I will not,” answered Irene, firmly.  “He signifies his wishes in the case, and those wishes must determine everything.  I will remain passive.”

“And let the divorce issue by default of answer?”

“Yes.”

There was a faintness of tone which Rose could not help remarking.

“Yes,” Irene added, “he desires this complete separation, and I can have nothing to say in opposition.  I left him, and have remained ever since a stranger to his home and heart.  We are nothing to each other, and yet are bound together by the strongest of bonds.  Why should he not wish to be released from these bonds?  And if he desires it, I have nothing to say.  We are divorced in fact—­why then retain the form?”

“There may be a question of the fact,” said Rose.

“Yes; I understand you.  We have discussed that point fully.  Your view may be right, but I do not see it clearly.  I will at least retain passive.  The responsibility shall rest with him.”

No life or color came back to the face of Irene.  She looked as cold as marble; not cold without feeling, but with intense feeling recorded as in a piece of sculpture.

There were deeds of kindness and mercy set down in the purposes of our young friend, and it was to go forth and perform them that Rose had called for Irene this morning.  But only one Sister of Charity went to the field that day, and only one for many days afterward.

Irene could not recover from the shock of this legal notice.  It found her less prepared than she had been at any time during the last two years of separation.  Her life at Ivy Cliff had not been favorable to a spirit of antagonism and accusation, nor favorable to a self-approving judgment of herself when the past came up, as it often came, strive as she would to cover it as with a veil.  She had grown in this night of suffering, less self-willed and blindly impulsive.