re than a guest in her husband's house, confidence
between them, of any description, is almost an impossibility."

He spoke without anger, but with a sadness that pierced her to the
heart; and having so spoken he leant his arm upon the mantelpiece,
turning slightly from her.

"I will tell you," he said, his voice very quiet and even, "exactly what
Mrs. Lockyard was hinting at. Ten years ago I was engaged to a
girl--like you in many ways--gay, impulsive, bewitching. I was young in
those days, romantic, too. I worshipped her as a goddess. I was utterly
blind to her failings. They simply didn't exist for me. She rewarded me
by running away with Maurice Brandon. I knew he was a blackguard, but
how much of a blackguard I did not realize till later. However, I didn't
trust him even then, and I followed them and insisted that they should
be married in my presence. Six months later I heard from her. He had
treated her abominably, had finally deserted her, and she was trying to
get a divorce. I did my best to help her, and eventually she obtained
it." He paused a moment, then went on with bent head, "I never saw her
after she gained her freedom. She went to her people, and very soon
after--she died."

Again he paused, then slowly straightened himself.

"I never cared for any woman after that," he said, "until I met you. As
for Brandon, he kept out of my way, and I had no object in seeking him.
In fact, I took no interest in his doings till I found that you were in
Mrs. Lockyard's set. That, I admit, was something of a shock. And then
when I found that you liked the man--"

"Oh, don't!" she broke in. "Don't! I was mad ever to tolerate him. Let
me forget it! Please let me forget it!"

She spoke passionately, and as if her emotion drew him he turned fully
round to her.

"If you could have forgotten him sooner," he said, with a touch of
sternness, "you would not find yourself tied now to a man you never
loved."

The effect of his words was utterly unexpected. She started as one
stricken, wounded in a vital place, and clasped her hands tightly
against her breast, crushing the flowers that drooped there.

"It is a lie!" she cried wildly. "It is a lie!"

"What is a lie?"

He took a step towards her, for she was swaying as she stood; but she
flung out her hands, keeping him from her.

Her face was working convulsively. She turned and moved unsteadily away
from him, groping out before her as she went. So groping, she reach