ey
had been together, first at Egypt, then at Florence, Vienna, Munich, and
Paris, and he could not have but seen that Herbert and she had a good
many sympathies in common. Not a word had been breathed, however, of a
suspicion that they were more than good friends to each other.

(As a matter of fact, they had not been more than good friends to each
other; but then some husbands are given to unworthy suspicions.)

Could it be possible, she asked herself, that some people with nasty
minds had suggested to him in Paris that she and Herbert were together
a great deal in London, and that he had been led to make this sudden
visit, this surprise visit to London, with a view of satisfying himself
as to the truth of the nasty reports--the disgraceful calumnies which
had reached his ears?

If he had done so, all that could be said was that he had been
singularly unfortunate in regard to his visit. "Unfortunate" was the
word which was in her mind, though, of course _"fortunate"_ was the word
which should have occurred to her. It was certainly a fortunate result
of his visit--that tableau in the drawing room of Mr. Ayrton: Ella and
her dearest friend standing side by side, hand in hand, as he entered.
A surprise visit, it may have been, but assuredly the surprise was
a pleasant one for the husband, if he had listened to the voice of
calumny.

And then, after pondering upon this with a smiling face, her smile
suddenly vanished. She was overwhelmed with the thought of what might
have been the result of that surprise visit--yes, if she had not had the
strength to run away to the side of Phyllis; yes, if Herbert had not had
the weakness to join that party of poker-players aboard the yacht.

She began to wonder what her husband would have done if he had entered
the house by the aid of his latch-key, and had found her sitting in that
lovely costume by the side of Herbert Courtland? Would he have thought
her a guilty woman? Would he have thought Herbert a false friend? Would
he have killed her, or would he have killed Herbert? Herbert would, she
thought, take a good deal of killing from a man of the caliber of her
husband; but what could she have done?

Well, what she did, as the force of that thought crushed her back upon
her chair, was to bring her hands together in a passionate clasp, and to
cry in a passionate gasp:

"Thank God--thank God--thank God!"

She dined alone with her husband that night, and thought it well to
appe