ed she had given her heart's best
love (more the pity of it!)--was this idol of hers to show feet of clay,
after all? She could not believe it. And yet--

Sick at heart, but imbued with the determination of a righteous cause,
Alice Greggory resolved, for Billy's sake, to watch and wait. If
necessary she should speak to some one--though to whom she did not know.
Billy's happiness should not be put in jeopardy if she could help it.
Indeed, no!

As the weeks passed, Alice came to be more and more uneasy, distressed,
and grieved. Of Billy she could believe no evil; but of Arkwright
she was beginning to think she could believe everything that was
dishonorable and despicable. And to believe that of the man she still
loved--no wonder that Alice did not look nor act like herself these
days.

Incensed at herself because she did love him, angry at him because he
seemed to be proving himself so unworthy of that love, and genuinely
frightened at what she thought was the fast-approaching wreck of all
happiness for her dear friend, Billy, Alice did not know which way
to turn. At the first she had told herself confidently that she would
"speak to somebody." But, as time passed, she saw the impracticability
of that idea. Speak to somebody, indeed! To whom? When? Where? What
should she say? Where was her right to say anything? She was not dealing
with a parcel of naughty children who had pilfered the cake jar! She
was dealing with grown men and women, who, presumedly, knew their own
affairs, and who, certainly, would resent any interference from her. On
the other hand, could she stand calmly by and see Bertram lose his wife,
Arkwright his honor, Billy her happiness, and herself her faith in human
nature, all because to do otherwise would be to meddle in other people's
business? Apparently she could, and should. At least that seemed to be
the role which she was expected to play.

It was when Alice had reached this unhappy frame of mind that Arkwright
himself unexpectedly opened the door for her.

The two were alone together in Bertram Henshaw's den. It was Tuesday
afternoon. Alice had called to find Billy and Arkwright deep in their
usual game of chess. Then a matter of domestic affairs had taken Billy
from the room.

"I'm afraid I'll have to be gone ten minutes, or more," she had said, as
she rose from the table reluctantly. "But you might be showing Alice the
moves, Mr. Arkwright," she had added, with a laugh, as she disappeared