believe she was innocent of the charge
against her."

"Most certainly I believe in Mrs. Carstairs' innocence." He spoke warmly
now.

"For that, at least, I am grateful to you." His tone did not betray
overwhelming gratitude, yet Anstice felt a sudden lightening of his
spirit. "To me, of course, it is absolutely inconceivable how anyone
could believe my sister guilty of such a degrading crime--or series of
crimes--but doubtless I am biassed in her favour. Still, you are a new
acquaintance, and don't know her as I do; so that I am grateful to you
for your clear-sightedness in the matter."

He broke off for a moment to drink some wine. Then:

"I should like to ask you one question. Does my sister know of that
episode in India? I mean, of course, of your share in the affair?"

"No. And," said Anstice, "it has been puzzling me for the last couple of
hours to understand how it is that she has not connected my name with
you. Didn't she know it at the time?"

"I daresay. But you must remember that my sister has gone through a
great deal since that day, three years ago. Very soon after that she
became involved in that terrible chain of events which led to her public
humiliation; and I haven't a shadow of doubt that the names of the
actors in the tragedy which broke up my life vanished completely from
her memory. As you may have noticed, Chloe is a self-centred woman. Her
sympathies are not deep, nor her interests wide. Her own life is a good
deal more interesting to her than the lives of other people--it is
generally so with strong characters, I believe--and after all, her own
tragedy has been so appalling that she may be excused if she has not a
very keen curiosity for those of others."

"I quite agree with you. But"--it was Anstice's turn to look Cheniston
fully in the face--"do I understand you wish me to tell your sister of
our former--acquaintance?"

After his question there fell a silence, during which Anstice had time
to study the other man more fully than he had hitherto done.

Like himself, Cheniston had altered since that day in India. Although
still sunburned and florid, a typical young Englishman in his
square-shouldered build and general air of clean fitness, there was
something in his face which had not been there before, which warred
oddly with the youth which still lurked in the blue eyes and round the
clean-shaven mouth. The boyishness had vanished from his features,
taking with it all hint of softne