g me a two or three
years' reprieve, are you not? Well, and then?"

"Well, and then suppose I do marry the little thing,--if she hasn't
changed her little mind?" said he, exasperated into punishing her. "It
wouldn't be a bad thing for me, remember, and she's temptingly easy to
deal with--that girl has more faith than the twelve apostles. Heavens,
Evie, don't look like that! My dearest girl, _you_ don't have to
worry, anyhow. If your--er--impediment hasn't stood in my way, why
should mine in yours?"

He spoke with a half-impatient, half-playful reproach. The woman
uttered a little cry. To soothe and silence her, he kissed her. It was
very risky, of course, but then the whole situation was risky, and he
took his chance like the bold player he was. The girl crouching behind
the paneled wall clenched her hands in her lap, felt her heart and
brain on fire, and wondered why the sky did not fall upon the world
and blot it out.

When those two had left the conservatory and she could command her
trembling limbs and whip her senses back into some semblance of order,
she went upstairs and got his letters. When she came downstairs again
he was standing in the hall, and he came forward eager, smiling,
tender, as if his heart welcomed her; as perhaps it did, men having
catholic hearts. She put her hand on his arm and whispered: "Come
into the conservatory."

The hall was quite empty. From drawing-room and library and
dining-room came the laughter and chatter of many people. Then the
music struck up a gay and popular air. The lilt and swing of it made
her giddy. But the little flower-room was cool and sweet, and she drew
a breath of relief.

Hunter bent his fair head, but she pushed him away with her hands
against his chest. A horror of his beauty, his deliberate fascination,
the falseness of him, came over her. For the first time she had been
brought face to face with sin and falsehood, and hers was the
unpardoning white condemnation of an angel to whom sin is unknown and
falsehood impossible. That such knowledge should have come through him
of all men made the thing more unbearable. Surprised and irritated by
the pale tragedy of her aspect, Hunter stared, waiting for her to
speak.

"I was on the stairs. I heard you--and that woman," said she with the
directness that was sometimes so appalling. "And I _know_." Her face
turned burning red before it paled again. She was ashamed for him with
the noble shame of the pure in heart