foundation in fact, and much that it would by no means please
her to hear, he warned her.

She fancied by his tone that he was annoyed, and hastily asserted that
she had been in fun, that not for a moment could she seriously
entertain such an intention.

"What you do not wish to tell me, be sure I do not wish to hear," she
told him.

He stood by the open drawing-room door and watched her as she ran
lightly upstairs.

Conscious of his eyes following her, the knowledge of his love and
admiration warm at her heart, she went into their brightly-lit bedroom.
For years she had lived such an unloved life, watching her youth fade,
fighting only for bread to keep herself alive in a world where none
wanted her. Since, in this man's eyes she was still so young and fair,
let her look at herself!

She crossed the room to the looking-glass with a quick, exultant step,
but having reached the dressing-table, drew back with almost a cry.
Standing on it in its old place, facing her husband in his silver
frame, was the silver-framed portrait with the elaborately-dressed fair
hair, the smiling, shallow eyes of the first wife.

The Bride stifled the little cry upon her lips, but with her heart
beating thickly, fell back from the dressing-table, and leant against
the foot of the bed.

A moment's thought reassured her. There was nothing, after all,
disturbing in the reappearance of a photograph which had been
displaced. The invaluable maid with her slanting eyes, with, perhaps,
her stupid devotion to a memory, was responsible.

At the thought the Bride's nerves steadied themselves, but her anger
arose. She moved to the bell--but stopped. Better not to create talk
among the servants by the order she had meditated; rather let this
portrait of the dead wife follow the rest.

But when she held it, frame and all, over the fire, she relented and
drew it back. "It is not like me to be a superstitious fool. I will
not," she said. "She is in her grave, and I am--here. In a way I did
not wish, but could not help, I spoilt the last year of her life. She
is dead, buried out of mind, shovelled away under the earth, that a joy
undreamt of might come to me. This poor triumph at least she shall
have, to keep her old place on the table. I will never dress in the
morning without remembering I am in her place. When I prepare for my
bed at night she shall not be forgotten."

"'Les morts que l'on fait saigner dans leur tombe se vengent
toujours!'" s