divan where, only an hour ago, Dorothea and she had exchanged happy
confidences. In the minutes of silence that followed, when he had
resumed his own seat, she felt as if she were in some queer nightmare,
where nothing could be explained.

"Did you ever hear of a young French explorer named Persigny?"

She nodded, without speaking. The irrelevancy of the question was in
keeping with the odd horror of the dream.

"Did you know he was exploring in Brazil?"

"I think I may have heard so."

"He came up from Rio with me--on the same steamer."

She listened, with eyes fixed fast upon him, wondering what he meant.

"He wasn't alone," Derek went on, speaking in a lifeless monotone.
"There were others of his party with him. There was one, especially,
with whom I became on terms that were almost--intimate."

For the first time it occurred to her that he was trying to see through
her thoughts; but in her bewilderment at his words, she met his gaze
steadily.

"There was something about this young man that attracted me," he
continued, in the same dull voice, "and I listened to his troubles. In
particular he told me why he had fled from Paris to hide himself in the
forests of the Amazon. Shall I tell you the reason?"

"If you like."

"It was an old story; in some respects a vulgar story. He had got into
the toils of an unscrupulous woman."

Her sudden perception of what he was leading up to forced her into a
little involuntary movement.

"I see you understand," he said, quickly, with the glimmer of a smile.
"I thought you would; for, as a matter of fact, much of what he said
brought back our conversation on the night before I sailed. There was
not a little in it that was mystery to me at the time, which
he--illumined."

She sat with lips parted and bosom heaving, her hands clasped tightly in
her lap. If she was conscious of any sensation, it was of terrible
curiosity to know how the tale was to be turned.

"What you said to me then," he pursued, in the same cruel quietness of
tone--"what you said to me then, as to the influence of a bad woman in a
man's life, seemed to me--what shall I say?--not precisely exaggerated,
but somewhat overwrought. I didn't know it could be so true to the
actual facts of experience. My friend's words at times were almost an
echo of your own. He had been the lover of a woman--"

Once more she started, raising her hand in silent protest against the
words.

"He--had--been--the--lover--