ck to luncheon," she said; "I
am afraid there is not much to eat."

"Yes," he said, "I finished my business up at the Castle, so I thought
I might as well come home. By-the-by, Belle, I have a bit of news for
you."

"What is it?" she asked, looking up sharply, for something in his tone
attracted her attention and awoke her fears.

"Your friend, Edward Cossey, is going to be married to Ida de la
Molle."

She blanched till she looked like death itself, and put her hands to
her heart as though she had been stabbed.

"The Squire told me so himself," he went on, keeping his eyes
remorselessly fixed upon her face. She leaned forward and he thought
that she was going to faint, but she did not. By a supreme effort she
recovered herself and drank a glass of sherry which was standing by
her side.

"I expected it," she said in a low voice.

"You mean that you dreaded it," answered Mr. Quest quietly. He rose
and locked the door and then came and stood close to her and spoke.

"Listen, Belle. I know all about your affair with Edward Cossey. I
have proofs of it, but I have forborne to use them, because I saw that
in the end he would weary of you and desert you for some other woman,
and that would be my best revenge upon you. You have all along been
nothing but his toy, the light woman with whom he amused his leisure
hours."

She put her hands back over her heart but said no word and he went on.

"Belle, I did wrong to marry you when you did not want to marry me,
but, being married, you have done wrong to be unfaithful to your vows.
I have been rewarded by your infidelity, and your infidelity has been
rewarded by desertion. Now I have a proposal to make, and if you are
wise you will accept it. Let us set the one wrong against the other;
let both be forgotten. Forgive me, and I will forgive you, and let us
make peace--if not now, then in a little while, when your heart is not
so sore--and go right away from Edward Cossey and Ida de la Molle and
Honham and Boisingham, into some new part of the world where we can
begin life again and try to forget the past."

She looked up at him and shook her head mournfully, and twice she
tried to speak and twice she failed. The third time her words came.

"You do not understand me," she said. "You are very kind and I am very
grateful to you, but you do not understand me. I cannot get over
things so easily as I know most women can; what I have done I never
can undo. I do not blame him a