ng for
certainty with which she convinced herself that Leonard understood her
overtures, and with the same dogged courage with which she pressed the
matter on him, she now went on to satisfy her mind.

'What did you do yesterday?'

'I was at Norcester all day. I went early. By the way, here is the
ribbon you wanted; I think it's exactly the same as the pattern.' As he
spoke he took a tissue-piper parcel from his pocket and handed it to her.

'Thanks!' she said. 'Did you meet any friends there?'

'Not many.' He answered guardedly; he had a secret to keep.

'Where did you dine?'

'At the club!' He began to be uneasy at this questioning; but he did not
see any way to avoid answering without creating some suspicion.

'Did you see any one you knew at the club?' Her voice as she spoke was a
little harder, a little more strained. Harold noticed the change, rather
by instinct than reason. He felt that there was danger in it, and
paused. The pause seemed to suddenly create a new fury in the breast of
Stephen. She felt that Harold was playing with her. Harold! If she
could not trust him, where then was she to look for trust in the world?
If he was not frank with her, what then meant his early coming; his
seeking her in the grove; his proposal of marriage, which seemed so
sudden and so inopportune? He must have seen Leonard, and by some means
have become acquainted with her secret of shame . . . His motive?

Here her mind halted. She knew as well as if it had been trumpeted from
the skies that Harold knew all. But she must be certain . . . Certain!

She was standing erect, her hands held down by her sides and clenched
together till the knuckles were white; all her body strung high--like an
over-pitched violin. Now she raised her right hand and flung it downward
with a passionate jerk.

'Answer me!' she cried imperiously. 'Answer me! Why are you playing
with me? Did you see Leonard Everard last night? Answer me, I say.
Harold An Wolf, you do not lie! Answer me!'

As she spoke Harold grew cold. From the question he now knew that
Stephen had guessed his secret. The fat was in the fire with a
vengeance. He did not know what to do, and still remained silent. She
did not give him time to think, but spoke again, this time more coldly.
The white terror had replaced the red:

'Are you not going to answer me a simple question, Harold? To be silent
now is to wrong me! I have a right to know!'

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