called her that.... And she was your Betty all the
time!"

"Yes," said Morena slowly. "She was my Betty all the time." He gave
her a twisted smile and put the two papers carefully into an inside
pocket. "I am going to keep this letter, Jane. Truly the ways of the
Lord are past finding out."

Joan looked at him in growing uneasiness. Her mind, never quick to
take in all the bearings and the consequences of her acts, was
beginning to work. "What are you going to do with it, Mr. Morena? I
don't want you to do Betty a hurt. She must have loved Prosper Gael.
Perhaps she still loves him."

This odd appeal drew another difficult smile from Betty's husband.
"Quite obviously she still loves him, Jane. She is divorcing me so
that she can marry him."

"But, Mr. Morena, I don't believe he will marry her now. He is tired
of her. He is that kind of lover. He gets tired. Now he would like to
marry me. He told me so. Perhaps--if Betty knew that--she might come
back to you, without your branding her."

Jasper was startled out of his vengeful stillness.

"Prosper Gael wants to marry you? He has told you so?"

"Yes." She was sad and humbled. "_Now_ he wants to marry me and once
he told me things about marrying. He said"--Joan quoted slowly, her
eyes half-closed in Prosper's manner, her voice a musical echo of his
thin, vibrant tone--"'It's man's most studied insult to woman.'"

"Yes. That's Prosper," murmured Jasper.

"I wouldn't marry him, Mr. Morena, even if I could--not if I were to
be--burnt for refusing him."

Jasper looked probingly at her, a new speculation in his eyes. She had
begun to fit definitely into his plans. It seemed there might be a way
to frustrate Betty and to keep a hold upon his valuable protegee.
"Are you so sure of that, Jane?"

"Ah!" she answered; "you doubt it because I once thought I loved him?
But you don't know all about me...."

He stood silent, busy with his weaving. At last he looked at her
rather blankly, impersonally. Joan was conscious of a frightened,
lonely chill. She put out her hand uncertainly, a wrinkle appearing
sharp and deep between her eyes.

"Mr. Morena, please--I haven't any one but you. I don't understand
very well what this divorcing rightly means. Nor what they will do to
me. Will you be thinking of me a little? I wouldn't ask it, for I know
you are unhappy and bothered enough, but, you see--"

He did not notice the hand. "It will come out right, Jane. Don't
worry," he