for it is
ill work tampering with the reserve of a Scot, "there's just one
question I want to ask you, and I think I have a right to know the
truth. I remember writing a certain letter to you that autumn; a
rather disparaging letter about--Miss Maurice." The name tripped him
up, and he reddened. "I beg your pardon; I ought to say Mrs Lenox,
though she still paints under the other name."

"Say Miss Maurice, then, by all means," Lenox answered coldly. "She is
welcome to call herself what she pleases so far as I am concerned. Go
on."

"I want to know when that letter reached you."

"On the afternoon of the day--I was married."

"Good Lord!" the other ejaculated blankly. "And all that I wrote
of,--was it news to you?"

Lenox nodded without looking up.

"My dear fellow, for God's sake don't tell me that a thoughtless letter
of mine was responsible----"

Lenox rose and went over to the mantelpiece. The full light on his
face was more than he cared about just then.

"You asked for the truth," he said, in a hard, even voice, "and--you
have made a clean shot at it. We separated that day. I have neither
seen nor heard of her since."

A long silence followed this bald statement of the case. Max
Richardson had no words in which to express the pain he felt. Brutus
arose, and rubbed himself against his master's legs, as if dimly aware
that sympathy of some sort was required of him, and the regular beat of
the sentry's footsteps asserted itself in the stillness.

At last Richardson spoke. "Wonder you cared about shaking hands with
me again after that."

Lenox came nearer, and took him by the shoulder.

"My dear good Dick," he said quietly, "don't talk rubbish; and oblige
me by putting the whole affair out of your head. It's as dead as a
door-nail. Has been these five years. After all, you were simply an
instrument--a providential instrument," he added grimly--"in the
general scheme of things." He paused for a moment; then returned to
his station on the hearth-rug.

"You say she has been painting under her own name. Has she been doing
much in that line lately?"

"Yes. She has made great strides. Her Academy pictures fetched high
prices last year."

"I am glad of that."

The words were spoken with such grave politeness that Richardson looked
up as if suspecting sarcasm. But the other's face was inscrutable.
"Do you happen to know where she is at present?" he asked, after a
pause.

"No. I be