ep, sincere appeal to his manhood, and afterwards a
wish that their real relations should be made known to the world if he
needed her, or if disaster came; that she might share and comfort his
life, whatever it might be. Then again:

If you love her, and she loves you, and is sorry for what she has
done, marry her and save her from everlasting shame. I am staying
with my grandfather's cousin, the Dean of Dighbury, the father of
the boy you saved. He is very kind, and he knows all. May God
guide you aright, and may you believe that no one speaks more
truthfully to you than your sorrowful and affectionate sister,

ALICE WINGFIELD.

He put the letter down beside him, made a cigarette, and poured out some
coffee for them both. He was holding himself with a tight hand. This
letter had touched him as nothing in his life had done since his
father's death. It had nothing of noblesse oblige, but straight
statement of wrong, as she saw it. And a sister without an open right
to the title: the mere fidelity of blood! His father had brought this
sorrowful life into the world and he had made it more sorrowful--poor
little thing--poor girl!

"What are you going to do?" asked Andree. "Do you go back--with Delia?"

He winced. Yet why should he expect of her too great refinement? She
had not had a chance, she had not the stuff for it in her veins; she had
never been taught. But behind it all was her passion--her love--for him.

"You know that's altogether impossible!" he answered.

"She would not take you back."

"Probably not. She has pride."

"Pride-chat! She'd jump at the chance!"

"That sounds rude, Andree; and it is contradictory."

"Rude! Well, I'm only a gipsy and a dompteuse!"

"Is that all, my girl?"

"That's all, now." Then, with a sudden change and a quick sob: "But I
may be--Oh, I can't say it, Gaston!" She hid her face for a moment on
his shoulder. "My God!"

He got to his feet. He had not thought of that--of another besides
themselves. He had drifted. A hundred ideas ran back and forth. He went
to the window and stood looking out. Alice's letter was still in his
fingers.

She came and touched his shoulder.

"Are you going to leave me, Gaston? What does that letter say?"

He looked at her kindly, with a protective tenderness.

"Read the letter, Andree," he said.

She did so, at first slowly, then quickly, then over and over again.
He stood motionless in the win