"You must care for him; it is his right; and he
will--I swear to you I know he will--care for you."

In his own mind there was another thought, a hard, strange thought; and
it had to do with the possibility of his brother not caring for this
wife.

Still she did not speak.

"To a good woman, with a good husband," he continued, "there is no
one--there should be no one--like the father of her child. And no woman
ever loved her child more than you do yours." He knew that this was
special pleading.

She trembled, and then dropped her cheek beside the child's. "I want
Frank to be happy," he went on; "there is no one I care more for than
for Frank."

She lifted her face to him now, in it a strange light. Then her look
ran to confusion, and she seemed to read all that he meant to convey. He
knew she did. He touched her shoulder.

"You must do the best you can every way, for Frank's sake, for all our
sakes. I will help you--God knows I will--all I can."

"Ah, yes, yes," she whispered, from the child's pillow.

He could see the flame in her cheek. "I understand." She put out
her hand to him, but did not look up. "Leave me alone with my baby,
Richard," she pleaded.

He took her hand and pressed it again and again in his old, unconscious
way. Then he let it go, and went slowly to the door. There he turned and
looked back at her. He mastered the hot thought in him. "God help
me!" she murmured from the cot. The next morning Richard went back to
Greyhope.

CHAPTER VII. A COURT-MARTIAL

It was hard to tell, save for a certain deliberateness of speech and a
colour a little more pronounced than that of a Spanish woman, that Mrs.
Frank Armour had not been brought up in England. She had a kind of grave
sweetness and distant charm which made her notable at any table or in
any ballroom. Indeed, it soon became apparent that she was to be the
pleasant talk, the interest of the season. This was tolerably comforting
to the Armours. Again Richard's prophecy had been fulfilled, and as he
sat alone at Greyhope and read the Morning Post, noticing Lali's name
at distinguished gatherings, or, picking up the World, saw how the
lion-hunters talked extravagantly of her, he took some satisfaction to
himself that he had foreseen her triumph where others looked for her
downfall. Lali herself was not elated; it gratified her, but she had
been an angel, and a very unsatisfactory one, if it had not done so. As
her confidence grew (though