d by the falsities of
language and manner which the artificial condition of modern society
exacts from her. When she yields herself to more serious deceptions,
intended to protect her dearest domestic interests, the mischief is
increased in proportion. Deceit, which is the natural weapon of defense
used by the weak creature against the strong, then ceases to be confined
within the limits assigned by the sense of self-respect and by the
restraints of education. A woman in this position will descend,
self-blinded, to acts of meanness which would be revolting to her if
they were related of another person.

Stella had already begun the process of self-degradation by writing
secretly to Winterfield. It was only to warn him of the danger of
trusting Father Benwell--but it was a letter, claiming him as her
accomplice in an act of deception. That morning she had received Penrose
with the outward cordialities of welcome which are offered to an old and
dear friend. And now, in the safe solitude of her room, she had fallen
to a lower depth still. She was deliberately considering the safest
means of acquainting herself with the confidential conversation which
Romayne and Penrose would certainly hold when she left them together.
"He will try to set my husband against me; and I have a right to know
what means he uses, in my own defense." With that thought she reconciled
herself to an action which she would have despised if she had heard of
it as the action of another woman.

It was a beautiful autumn day, brightened by clear sunshine, enlivened
by crisp air. Stella put on her hat and went out for a stroll in the
grounds.

While she was within view from the windows of the servants' offices
she walked away from the house. Turning the corner of a shrubbery, she
entered a winding path, on the other side, which led back to the lawn
under Romayne's study window. Garden chairs were placed here and
there. She took one of them, and seated herself--after a last moment of
honorable hesitation--where she could hear the men's voices through the
open window above her.

Penrose was speaking at the time.

"Yes. Father Benwell has granted me a holiday," he said; "but I don't
come here to be an idle man. You must allow me to employ my term of
leave in the pleasantest of all ways. I mean to be your secretary
again."

Romayne sighed. "Ah, if you knew how I have missed you!"

(Stella waited, in breathless expectation, for what Penrose would say