olve.

"Why should you be so keen about Egypt and Claridge Pasha?" he said to
her now.

Her face hardened a little. Had he the right to torture her so? To
suspect her? She could read it in his eyes. Her conscience was clear.
She was no man's slave. She would not be any man's slave. She was master
of her own soul. What right had he to catechise her--as though she
were a servant or a criminal? But she checked the answer on her tongue,
because she was hurt deeper than words could express, and she said,
composedly:

"I have here a letter from my cousin Lacey, who is with Claridge Pasha.
It has news of him, of events in the Soudan. He had fever, there was to
be a fight, and I wished to know if you had any later news. I thought
that document there might contain news, but I did not read it. I
realised that it was not yours, that it belonged to the Government, that
I had no right. Perhaps you will tell me if you have news. Will you?"
She leaned against the table wearily, holding her letter.

"Let me read your letter first," he said wilfully.

A mist seemed to come before her eyes; but she was schooled to
self-command, and he did not see he had given her a shock. Her first
impulse was to hand the letter over at once; then there came the
remembrance of all it contained, all it suggested. Would he see all it
suggested? She recalled the words Lacey had used regarding a service
which David had once done her. If Eglington asked, what could she say?
It was not her secret alone, it was another's. Would she have the right,
even if she wished it, to tell the truth, or part of the truth? Or,
would she be entitled to relate some immaterial incident which would
evade the real truth? What good could it do to tell the dark story?
What could it serve? Eglington would horribly misunderstand it--that
she knew. There were the verses also. They were more suggestive than
anything else, though, indeed, they might have referred to another
woman, or were merely impersonal; but she felt that was not so. And
there was Eglington's innate unbelief in man and woman! Her first
impulse held, however. She would act honestly. She would face whatever
there was to face. She would not shelter herself; she would not give
him the right in the future to say she had not dealt fairly by him, had
evaded any inquest of her life or mind which he might make.

She gave him the letter, her heart standing still, but she was filled
with a regnant determination to defen