rk from a woman he has never spoken to
before, Sartoris lifts his brows, and regards her, if possibly, more
curiously.

"So I was," he says; "but I came home yesterday." Then, "And you are
Dorian's wife?"

Her brows grow clouded.

"Yes," she says, and no more, and, turning aside, pulls to pieces the
flowering grasses that grow on her right hand.

"I suppose I am unwelcome in your sight," says the old man, noting her
reserve. "Yet if, at the time of your marriage, I held aloof, it was
not because you were the bride."

"Did you hold aloof?" says Georgie, with wondering eyes. "Did our
marriage displease you? I never knew: Dorian never told me." Then,
with sudden unexpected bitterness, "Half measures are of no use. Why
did you not forbid the wedding altogether? That would have been the
wisest and kindest thing, both for him and me."

"I don't think I quite follow you," says Lord Sartoris, in a troubled
tone. "Am I to understand you already regret your marriage? Do not
tell me that."

"Why should I not?" says Georgie, defiantly. His tone has angered her,
though why, she would have found a difficulty in explaining. "You are
his uncle," she says, with some warmth: "why should you not know? Why
am I always to pretend happiness that I never feel?"

"Do you know what your words convey?" says Sartoris, more shocked than
he can express.

"I think I do," says the girl, half passionately; and then she turns
aside, and moves as though she would leave him.

"This is terrible," says Sartoris, in a low voice full of pain. "And
yet I cannot believe he is unkind to you."

"Unkind? No," with a little scornful smile: "I hear no harsh words, my
lightest wish is law; yet the veriest beggar that crawls the road is
happier than I am."

"It seems impossible," says Sartoris, quietly, looking intently at her
flower-like face and lovely wistful eyes,--"seeing you, it seems
impossible to me that he can do anything but love you."

"Do not profane the words," she says, quickly. Then she pauses, as
though afraid to continue, and presently says, in a broken voice, "Am
I--the only woman he has--loved?"

Something in the suppressed passion of her tone tells Lord Sartoris
that she too is in possession of the secret that for months has
embittered his life. This discovery is horrible to him.

"Who has been cruel enough to make you wise on that subject?" he says,
impulsively, and therefore unwisely.

Georgie turns upon him eyes brilliant