p, and paced, as of old, about the room. Will purposely kept
silence.

"I've confessed," Franks began again, with effort, "that I made a fool
of myself the other night. But I wish you'd tell me something about
your time at Trient. Didn't you notice anything? Didn't anything make
you suspect what she was going to do?"

"I never for a moment foresaw it," replied Will, with unemphasised
sincerity.

"Yet she must have made up her mind whilst you were there. Her
astounding hypocrisy! I had a letter a few days before, the same as
usual--"

"Quite the same?"

"Absolutely!--Well, there was no difference that struck me. Then all at
once she declares that for months she had felt her position false and
painful. What a monstrous thing! Why did she go on pretending, playing
a farce? I could have sworn that no girl lived who was more thoroughly
honest in word and deed and thought. It's awful to think how one can be
deceived. I understand now the novels about unfaithful wives, and all
that kind of thing. I always said to myself--'Pooh, as if a fellow
wouldn't know if his wife were deceiving him'! By Jove this has made me
afraid of the thought of marriage. I shall never again trust a woman."

Warburton sat in meditation, only half smiling.

"Of course, she's ashamed to face me. For fear I should run after her,
she wrote that they were just leaving Trient for another place, not
mentioned. If I wrote, I was to address to Bath, and the letter would
be forwarded. I wrote--of course a fool's letter; I only wish I'd never
sent it. Sometimes I think I'll never try to see her again; sometimes I
think I'll make her see me, and tell her the truth about herself. The
only thing is--I'm half afraid--I've gone through torture enough; I
don't want to begin again. Yet if I saw her--"

He took another turn across the room, then checked himself before
Warburton.

"Tell me honestly what you think about it. I want advice. What's your
opinion of her?"

"I have no opinion at all. I don't pretend to know her well enough."

"Well, but," persisted Franks, "your impression--your feeling. How does
the thing strike you?"

"Why, disagreeably enough; that's a matter of course."

"You don't excuse her?" asked Norbert, his eyes fixed on the other.

"I can imagine excuses--"

"What? What excuse can there be for deliberate hypocrisy, treachery?"

"If it _was_ deliberate," replied Warburton, "there's nothing to be
said. In your position--since you a