or her.

"After--whatever it was you gave him up for. You gave him up for
something."

"I did not. I never gave him up until I was afraid."

"You gave It up. You wouldn't have done that if there had not been
something. Something that stood between."

"If," said Agatha, "you could only tell me what it was."

"I can't tell you. I don't know what came to you. I only know that if
I'd had a gift like that, I would not have given it up for anything. I
wouldn't have let anything come between. I'd have kept myself ..."

"I did keep myself--for _it_. I couldn't keep myself entirely for
Harding; there were other things, other people. I couldn't give them up
for Harding or for anybody."

"Are you quite sure you kept yourself what you were, Aggy?"

"What _was_ I?"

"My dear--you were absolutely pure. You said _that_ was the condition."

"Yes. And, don't you see, who _is_--absolutely? If you thought _I_ was
you didn't know me."

As she spoke she heard the sharp click of the latch as the garden gate
fell to; she had her back to the window so that she saw nothing, but she
heard footsteps that she knew, resolute and energetic footsteps that
hurried to their end. She felt the red blood surge into her face, and
saw that Milly's face was white with another passion, and that Milly's
eyes were fixed on the figure of the man who came up the garden path.
And without looking at her Milly answered.

"I don't know now; but I think I see, my dear ..." In Milly's pause the
door-bell rang violently. Milly rose and let her have it--"what was the
flaw in the crystal."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rodney entered the room and it was then that Milly looked at her.
Milly's face was no longer the face of passion, but of sadness and
reproach, almost of recovered incredulity. It questioned rather than
accused her. It said unmistakably, "You gave him up for _that_?"

Agatha's voice recalled her. "Milly, I think you know Mr. Lanyon."

Rodney, in acknowledging Milly's presence, did not look at her. He saw
nothing there but Agatha's face which showed him at last the expression
that to his eyes had always been latent in it, the look of the tragic,
hidden soul of terror that he had divined in her. He saw her at last as
he had known he should some day see her. Terror was no longer there, but
it had possessed her; it had passed through her and destroyed that other
look she had from her lifted mouth and hair, the look of a thing borne
on wings. Now