the instant at
which his latch-key clicked in the lock, she threw the hall-door open,
and, as he entered, closed it silently, almost stealthily, behind him.
Then, with her hand upon his shoulder, she led him to his study--the
plainly furnished little workshop which looked out on the trim suburban
garden. This was the room in which he had spent the richest and most
prosperous hours of the only tranquil years he had known, and it was
here that he was fated to meet the death-blow to his happiness.

'What is the matter?' he asked--'what has happened? Where is Madge?'

'She is in her own room,' Phyllis answered, her eyes wide with terror,
and her pretty Australian roses all vanished from her cheeks. 'Mother
and she have locked themselves in together, and Madge is crying her
heart out Oh, Paul, Paul,' she cried, clasping her hands, 'what have you
done?'

With that she broke into sudden weeping, and Paul stood amazed, with a
chill terror, as yet unrecognised, clutching at his heart.

'What have I done?' he echoed--' what _have_ I done, dear?'

'Done!' she flashed at him, drawing her hands away from her streaming
eyes, and throwing them passionately apart 'Oh, Paul, we have all loved
you so, and honoured you so, and now----'

She cast herself into an arm-chair with a reckless abandonment, and
cried bitterly. The chill hand at Paul's heart grew icy, but even yet he
did not recognise his fear.

'For mercy's sake, Bill, tell me!'

She flashed to her feet in a second, and looked at him from head to foot
with a burning scorn.

'Never call me by that name again,'she said, through her clenched white
teeth. 'You ask me what you have done? You have ruined Madge's life and
broken her heart, and mine,' she cried, striking her clenched hand upon
her breast--'and mine!'

She went raging up and down the room like a lovely fury, her hair
disordered, her eyes flashing, and her cheeks new-crimsoned with anger.

'Tell me--tell me,' he besought her, 'what has happened.'

'This has happened,' she answered, with a sudden tense quiet: 'your wife
has been here--your wife, an overdressed, painted French trull, so drunk
that she could barely stand.'

'Good God!' said Paul. He laid his hand upon a bookshelf, and stood
swaying there as if he were about to fall. 'What brought her here?' he
gasped.

'You don't deny it?' said the girl, speaking with the same tense quiet
as before.

'No, no,' said Paul, 'I don't deny it What brought her he