right
step, and shut her mind against vain regrets.

But--Stanor did not want her. He was _not_ faithful. He had had so
little consideration for her feelings that he would have let her read of
his marriage in a public print. He had appeared now only at the command
of another.

"I think," said Pixie deeply, "you are a cowardly man. I am sorry for
the girl you are going to marry. She seems to have a conscience, but it
would have been kinder of her if she had made you tell me the truth
without first trying to spoil my life. I suppose you _would_ have
married me if I had said `yes,' or was it only a form which you never
intended to keep?"

"You are hard on me, Pixie, but I deserve it. I have no excuses to
make. My only comfort is that I have not ruined your happiness. Like
you, I have learnt my lesson, and I can see one thing clearly: You don't
love me, Pixie!"

"No, I don't love you, but I have kept myself for you. I have closed my
heart to every other thought. I _would_ have loved you if you had
needed me. Nothing, nothing in the world could have made me deceive
you!"

"I knew it! We both knew it! Honor said--"

"_Honor_!" Pixie's cry rang sharp. "Is it Honor? Honor Ward?"
Somehow the knowledge seemed an additional hurt; she sat down on a chair
and clasped her cold hands. The brain flashed back memories of
occasions dating back to the very beginning of Stanor's life in America,
when his name and Honor's had been coupled together. "Honor Ward and
I." "Stanor Vaughan and I." ... Memories of an earlier occasion still
when Honor had said with _empressement_. "You can trust me, Pixie!"
Even then, had she foreseen what might happen--even then, with her
knowledge of her own character and Stanor's, seen danger ahead? Well,
Honor _had_ been loyal! From Stanor's manner, even more than his words,
it was obvious that had there been no impediment in the way as regards
her own wishes, yet she had refused him, had sent him home to keep his
troth. After that first sharp moment Pixie had no coldness in her heart
towards Honor Ward.

Stanor was talking, moving restlessly to and fro, telling the story of
the past years in jerky, disconnected sentences, blaming himself,
exonerating Honor. The sound of his words penetrated to Pixie's brain,
but not the sense. It seemed to her useless to listen; there was
nothing more to be said.

Suddenly she rose from her seat with an air of decision.

"I think you had