ticipate her
thought.

"Dick," she said quietly, without moving from her place by the
window, "have you seen _him_ since----?"

There was no need of names; he did not even notice the omission.
Could she see his face, he wondered, in the firelight?

"No!" he sighed, "no!"

She came nearer to him, so near that he could hear her breathing,
the touch of her fingers upon the back of a chair; and presently she
spoke again:

"You think there was no excuse for him?"

"Ah--for excuse! She was pretty, you know!"

He got up, and stood facing her for a moment in the darkness, and
then, while she appeared to consider, glanced at his watch, and made
a suggestion of movement towards the door.

"Only a minute, Dick," she said, in the same set voice. "You will do
me the justice to admit that I haven't alluded to this before. But I
have been thinking--I can't help it--and I want to know----"

"To know?" he echoed impatiently.

"To know your position--our position; what you had to do with it
all."

"What is the good? What difference can it make?"

"It's the doubt," she said--"the doubt. I thought you might like to
explain."

"To explain? Good Lord! what have I to explain? Is it not all
settled, all clear? My dear child, let us be reasonable, let us
forget; it's the only way."

There was less of anger in his voice, but if Eve could have seen his
eyes in the firelight, she might have noticed that they were very
bright, and their pupils were contracted to hard, iridescent points.

"How can it be settled," she asked wearily, "while there is this
shadow of doubt? And to forget--Heaven knows I have tried!"

Dick shrugged his shoulders tolerantly.

"What do you want me to say?--to explain?"

"Could you not have warned him, Dick? Did you not see it coming?
She, that woman, was she not your model? Did he not meet her at your
studio? Was not that the beginning of it all? Ah, can you say that
you were not to blame?"

She spoke fast, following question with question, as if she
anticipated the answer with mingled feelings of hope and fear, and
there was more of entreaty than of denunciation in her last words.

"It's such an old story," he rejoined, with an air of feeble
protest. "How could I foresee what would happen? And," he added,
hardening himself, "they did not meet for the first time at my
studio; on the contrary, it was he who brought her to me, and I
suspected nothing. What more can I say? Surely it is all plain
en