t alone. Any of her husband's
friends were hers, and she was fully cognisant of Sir Bernard's
unceasing attention to the sufferer."

"If that is so it is rather a pity that she was recently so
neglectful," I said.

"I know, Ralph--I know the reason of it all," she faltered. "I can't
explain to you, because it is not just that I should expose my
sister's secret. But I know the truth which, when revealed, will make
it clear to the world that her apparent neglect was not culpable. She
had a motive."

"A motive in going to town of an evening and enjoying herself!" I
exclaimed. "Of course, the motive was to obtain relaxation. When a man
is more than twice the age of his wife, the latter is apt to chafe
beneath the golden fetter. It's the same everywhere--in Mayfair as in
Mile End; in Suburbia as in a rural village. Difference of age is
difference of temperament; and difference of temperament opens a
breach which only a lover can fill."

She was silent--her eyes cast down. She saw that the attempt to
vindicate her sister had, as before, utterly and ignominiously failed.

"Yes, Ralph, you are right," she admitted at last. "Judged from a
philosophic standpoint a wife ought not to be more than ten years her
husband's junior. Love which arises out of mere weakness is as easily
fixed upon one object as another; and consequently is at all times
transferable. It is so pleasant to us women to be admired, and so
soothing to be loved that the grand trial of constancy to a young
woman married to an elderly man is not to add one more conquest to her
triumphs, but to earn the respect and esteem of the man who is her
husband. And it is difficult. Of that I am convinced."

There was for the first time a true ring of earnestness in her voice,
and I saw by her manner that her heart was overburdened by the sorrow
that had fallen upon her sister. Her character was a complex one which
I had failed always to analyse, and it seemed just then as though her
endeavour was to free her sister of all the responsibilities of her
married life. She had made that effort once before, prior to the
tragedy, but its motive was hidden in obscurity.

"Women are often very foolish," she went on, half-apologetically.
"Having chosen their lover for his suitability they usually allow the
natural propensity of their youthful minds to invest him with every
ideal of excellence. That is a fatal error committed by the majority
of women. We ought to be satisfied w