not seen me. He was gazing fixedly
at Bella, languishing on the divan and watching him with lowered lids,
and he had given Jim a side glance of contempt. But now he saw me and
he colored under his tan. His neck blushed furiously, being much whiter
than his face. He kept his eyes on mine, and I knew that he was mutely
asking forgiveness. But the thought of what was coming paralyzed me. My
eyes were glued to his as they had been that first evening when he had
called me "Mrs. Wilson," and after an instant he looked away, and his
face was set and hard.

"It seems that we have all been playing a little comedy, Mr. Harbison,"
Aunt Selina began, nasally sarcastic. "Or rather, you and I have been
the audience. The rest have played."

"I--I don't think I understand," he said slowly. "I have seen very
little comedy."

"It was not well planned," Aunt Selina retorted tartly. "The idea
was good, but the young person who was playing the part of Mrs.
Wilson--overacted."

"Oh, come, Aunt Selina," Jim protested, "Kit was coaxed and cajoled into
this thing. Give me fits if you like; I deserve all I get. But let Kit
alone--she did it for me."

Bella looked over at me and smiled nastily.

"I would stop doing things for Jim, Kit," she said. "It is SO
unprofitable."

But Mr. Harbison harked back to Aunt Selina's speech.

"PLAYING the part of Mrs. Wilson!" he repeated. "Do you mean--?"

"Exactly. Playing the part. She is not Mrs. Wilson. It seems that that
honor belonged at one time to Miss Knowles. I believe such things are
not unknown in New York, only why in the name of sense does a man want
to divorce a woman and then meet her at two o'clock in the morning to
kiss the place where his own wedding ring used to rest?"

Jim fidgeted. Bella was having spasms of mirth to herself, but the
Harbison man did not smile. He stood for a moment looking at the fire;
then he thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his dressing gown, and
stalked over to me. He did not care that the others were watching and
listening.

"Is it true?" he demanded, staring down at me. "You are NOT Mrs. Wilson?
You are not married at all? All that about being neglected--and loathing
HIM, and all that on the roof--there was no foundation of truth?"

I could only shake my head without looking up. There was no defense to
be made. Oh, I deserved the scorn in his voice.

"They--they persuaded you, I suppose, and it was to help somebody? It
was not a practical jok