wired,
to-day?"

"He has not. Why should he? Don't be hysterical, Claire. If you have
anything to say, say it, and let me hear. What have you `found out'
about Major Carew?"

"He's--_not_ Major Carew!" Claire cried desperately. "He has deceived
you, Cecil, and pretended to be ... to be something quite different from
what he really is. There _is_ a real Major Carew, and his name is
Frank, and he has a home in Surrey, and an invalid father--everything
that he told you was true, only--he is not the man! Oh, Cecil, how
shall I tell you? It's so dreadfully, dreadfully hard. He knew all
about the real Major Carew, and could get hold of photographs to show
you, because he--he is his servant, Cecil--his soldier servant... He
was with him in camp!"

Cecil rose from her chair, and went over to the empty fireplace,
standing with her back to her companion. She spoke no word, and Claire
struggled on painfully with her explanations.

"He--the real Major Carew--came over to a tennis party at Mrs
Fanshawe's yesterday. I thought, of course, that it was another man of
the same name, but he said--he said there was no other in that regiment,
and he asked me to tell him some more, and I did, and everything I said
amazed him more and more, for it was true about _himself_! Then he
asked me to describe--the man, and he made an excuse to send his servant
over in the evening so that I should see him. He came. Oh, Cecil! He
saw me, and he--ran away! He had not returned this morning. He has
_deserted_!"

Still silence. It seemed to Claire of most pitiful import that Cecil
made no disclaimer, that at the word of a stranger she accepted her
lover's guilt. What a light on the past was cast by that stoney
silence, unbroken by a solitary protest. Poor Mary Rhodes had known no
doubts as to the man's identity, she had given him affection and help,
but respect and trust could never have entered into the contract!

Claire had said her say: she leant her elbows on the table, and buried
her head in her hands. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily for
an endless five minutes. Then Cecil spoke:--

"I suppose," she said harshly, "you expect me to be grateful for this!"

The sound of her voice was like a blow. Claire looked up, startled,
protesting.

"Oh, Cecil, surely you would rather know?"

"Should I?" Cecil asked slowly. "Should I?" She turned back to the
tireless grate, and her thoughts sped... With her eyes