as of a man who failed to find a
sufficient object in life. You were wrong. I have an object, and I do
my best to live up to it. I hate the whole world of men and women who
laughed their way through life whilst I suffered--tortures. I hate the
woman who sent me there. I have no heart, nor any sense of pity. Now
perhaps you can understand my life and the manner of it."

Her hands were clasped to the side of her head. Something of horror had
stolen into the steadfast gaze with which she was still regarding him.
Yet there were other things there which puzzled him.

"This--is terrible!" she murmured. "Then you are not--Mr. Wingrave at
all?"

He hesitated. After all, it was scarcely worth while concealing anything
now.

"I am Sir Wingrave Seton," he said. "You may remember my little affair!"

She caught hold of his hands.

"You poor, poor dear!" she cried. "How you must have suffered!"

Wingrave had a terrible moment. What he felt he would never have
admitted, even to himself. Her eyes were shining with sympathy, and it
was so unexpected. He had expected something in the nature of a cold
withdrawal; her silence was the only thing he had counted upon. It was a
fierce, but short battle. His sudden grasp of her hands was relaxed. He
stood away from her.

"You are very kind," he said. "As you can doubtless imagine, it is a
little too late for sympathy. The years have gone, and the better part
of me, if ever there was a better part, with them."

"I am not so sure of that!" she whispered.

He looked at her coldly.

"Why not?"

"If you were absolutely heartless," she said, "if you were perfectly
consistent, why did you not make me suffer? You had a great chance! A
little feigned affection, and then a few truths. You could have dragged
me down a little way into the pit of broken hearts! Why didn't you?"

He frowned.

"One is forced to neglect a few opportunities!"

She smiled at him--delightfully.

"You foolish man!" she murmured. "Some day or other, you will turn out
to be a terrible impostor. Do you know, I think I am going to ask you
again--what I asked you last night?"

"I scarcely think that you will be so ill-advised," he declared coldly.
"Whether you believe it or not, I can assure you that I am incapable of
affection."

She sighed.

"I am not so sure about that," she said with protesting eyebrows, "but
you are terribly hard-hearted?"

He was entirely dissatisfied with the impression he had produce