queerly, with his lower lip between his teeth.

Anne stood silent for many seconds.

At last, "You must never come to see me," she said very decidedly.

"Not if I bring the mother as a chaperon?" he jested.

"Neither you nor your mother must ever come to see me again," she
said firmly. "And--Nap--though I know that the writing of that
letter meant nothing whatever to you, I am more sorry than I can say
that you sent it."

He threw back his head arrogantly. "What?" he said. "Has the queen no
further use for her jester? Am I not even to write to you then?"

"I think not," she said.

"And why?" he demanded imperiously.

"I think you know why," she said.

"Do I know why? Is it because you are afraid of your husband?"

"No."

"Afraid of me then?" There was almost a taunt in the words.

"No," she said again.

"Why, then?" He was looking full into her eyes. There was something
peculiarly sinister about his masked face. She almost felt as if he were
menacing her.

Nevertheless she made unfaltering reply. "For a reason that means much
to me, though it may not appeal to you. Because my husband is not
always sane, and I am afraid of what he might do to you if he were
provoked any further."

"Great Lucifer!" said Nap. "Does he think I make love to you then?"

She did not answer him. "He is not always sane," she repeated.

"You are right," he said. "That reason does not appeal to me. Your
husband's hallucinations are not worth considering. But I don't propose
on that account to write any more letters for his edification. For the
future--" He paused.

"For the future," Anne said, "there must be no correspondence between us
at all. I know it seems unreasonable to you, but that cannot be helped.
Mr. Errol, surely you are generous enough--chivalrous enough--to
understand."

"No, I don't understand," Nap said. "I don't understand how you can, by
the widest stretch of the imagination, believe it your duty to conform to
the caprices of a maniac."

"How can I help it?" she said very sadly.

He was silent a moment. His hands were still gripping hers; she
could feel her wedding-ring being forced into her flesh. "Like our
mutual friend, Major Shirley," he said slowly, "I wonder why you
stick to the man."

She turned her face away with a sound that was almost a moan.

"You never loved him," he said with conviction.

She was silent. Yet after a little, as he waited, she spoke as one
compelled.

"I live with him