married. Then one day he let me
see--oh, no, I am not being quite truthful, for I had seen it
before--that he was in reality ashamed of our life together. He was
acting against his convictions because it amused him. I could not bear
that, it seemed to drag our life together through the mud, and I left
him."

She could see that Mrs. Westwood was not making the slightest attempt to
understand her; still she went wildly on:

"I went home and it seemed all right. My life with him faded away; I
suppose I had never really loved him. Then, then they found out about
what was going to happen and they turned against me, even Aunt Janet;"
her voice broke on the words, she buried her face in her arms, crying
like a child. "Aunt Janet, Aunt Janet," she whispered again and again
through her tears.

Mrs. Westwood waited till the storm had spent itself, there was no sign
of softening upon her face. Remorse and regret she could understand and
condone, but this excusing of self, as she called Joan's explanation,
struck her as being inexcusably bad.

"And do you now congratulate yourself that by this accident," she laid
special stress on the word, "you are to escape the punishment of your
sin?"

Joan raised tear-drowned eyes. "Haven't I been punished enough," she
asked, "for something that I did not think was a sin?"

"We cannot make or unmake God's laws in our thoughts," the other
answered; "you were wilfully blind to the knowledge that was in your
heart."

"Oh, no," Joan began. Mrs. Westwood swept the remark aside and stood up.

"We will not argue about it," she said; "I realize that you are not yet
looking for the comfort or promise of pardon which I could lead you to.
But, my child, do not delude yourself into the belief that thus easily
have you set aside the consequences of your evil. God is not mocked,
neither does He sleep. If you should ever be in any real need of help,"
she ended abruptly, "help which would serve to make you strong in the
face of temptation, come to us, our doors are always open."

She dropped a card bearing the address of the mission on Joan's lap and
turned to go. Joan saw her call Nurse Taylor and say a few words to her
on the way out. For herself she sat on in the dusk. Outside the lamps
had been lit, they shone on wet pavements and huge, lurching omnibuses,
on fast-driven taxis and a policeman standing alone in the middle of the
road. To-morrow she would have to write to Miss Abercrombie and tell