"

Behind the harshly uttered statement Gillian could sense the unspeakable
bitterness of the man's soul. It hurt her, calling forth her quick
sympathy just as the sight of some maimed and wounded animal would have
done.

"Oh!" she said, a sensitive quiver in her voice. "I was so sorry--so
terribly sorry--to hear about June. We hadn't heard--we only knew quite
recently." Her face clouded as she reflected on the tragic happenings
with which the news had been accompanied.

At this moment a waitress paused at Storran's side and he gave his
order. Then, looking curiously at Gillian, he said:

"What did you hear? Just that she died when our child was born, I
suppose?"

Gillian's absolute honesty of soul could not acquiesce, though it would
have been infinitely the easier course.

"No," she said, flushing a little and speaking very low. "We heard that
she might have lived if--if she had only been--happier."

He nodded silently, rather as though this was the answer he had
anticipated. Presently he spoke abruptly:

"Does Miss Vallincourt know that?"

Gillian hesitated. Then, taking her courage in both hands she told
him quickly and composedly the whole story of the engagement and its
rupture, and let him understand just precisely what June's death, owing
to the special circumstances in which it had occurred, had meant for
Magda of retribution and of heartbreak.

Storran listened without comment, in his eyes an odd look of
concentration. The waitress dexterously slid a tray in front of him and
he poured himself out a cup of tea mechanically, but he made no attempt
to drink it. When Gillian ceased, his face showed no sign of softening.
It looked hard and very weary. His strong fingers moved restlessly,
crumbling one of the small cakes on the plate in front of him.

"'Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding
small,'" he quoted at last, quietly.

Gillian met his harshly cynical glance with one of brave defiance.

"I don't think God's mills have anything to do with it," she said
swiftly. "He'd understand all the excuses and allowances that should
be made for her better even than I do. And I shouldn't want to punish
Magda. I'd make her--happy. She's never known what it means to be really
happy. Success and gaiety aren't _happiness_."

"And you?" he asked quickly.

There was a soft and wonderful shining in the brown eyes that were
lifted to his.

"I had one year of utter happiness," she answe