ething that threatened beer and satisfied no party; not even
the teetotalers--only the wives of the teetotalers. Then they had a few
words regarding George Holland's article in the _Zeit Geist_. Mr. Linton
seemed to some extent interested in the contentions of the rector of St.
Chad's; and Herbert agreed with him when he expressed the opinion that
the two greatest problems that the Church had to face were: How to get
people with intelligence to go to church, and what to do with them when
they were there.

In an hour they were in their box at Covent Garden listening to the
sensuous music of "Carmen," and comparing the sauciness of the charming
little devil who sang the habanera, with the piquancy of the last
_Carmen_ but three, and with the refinement of the one who had made so
great a success at Munich. They agreed that the savagery of the newest
was very fascinating,--Stephen Linton called it womanly,--but they
thought they should like to hear her in the third act before pronouncing
a definite opinion regarding her capacity.

Then the husband left the box to talk to some people who were seated
opposite.

"You know everything?" she said.

"Everything," said Herbert. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"For running away? Oh, Bertie, you cannot have heard all."

"For forcing you to write me that letter--can you ever forgive me?"

"Oh, the letter? Oh, Bertie, we were both wrong--terribly wrong. But we
were saved."

"Yes, we were saved. Thank God--thank God!"

"That was my first cry, Bertie, when I felt that I was safe--that we
both had been saved: Thank God! It seemed as if a miracle had been done
to save us."

"So it was--a miracle."

"I spent the night praying that you might be kept away from me,
Bertie--away for ever and ever. I felt that I was miserably weak; I felt
that I could not trust myself; but now that you are here beside me again
I feel strong. Oh, Bertie, we know ourselves better now than we did a
week ago--is it only a week ago? It seems months--years--a lifetime!"

"Yes, I think that we know each other better now, Ella. That night
aboard the yacht all the history of the past six months seemed to come
before me. I saw what a wretch I had been, and I was overwhelmed with
self-contempt."

"It was all my fault, dear Bertie. I was foolish--vain--a mere woman!
Do not say that I did not take pride in what I called, in my secret
moments, my conquest. Oh, Bertie! I had sunk into the depths. And then
that let