ity. He had never
truly believed that reading of Nancy's character by means of which he
tried to persuade himself that his marriage was an unmitigated calamity,
and a final parting between them the best thing that could happen.
His memories of her, and the letters she had written him, coloured her
personality far otherwise. Yet was not the harsh judgment after all the
true one?

'It doesn't matter to you,' he said, 'that people think you an unmarried
mother,--that people are talking about you with grins and sneers?'

Nancy reddened in angry shame.

'Let them talk!' she exclaimed violently. 'What does it matter, so long
as they don't know I'm married?'

'So long as they don't know?--How came you to tell this woman?'

'Do you suppose I told her for amusement? She found out what had
happened at Falmouth,--found out simply by going down there and making
inquiries; because she suspected me of some secret affair with a man she
wants to marry herself--this Mr. Crewe. The wonder of wonders is that
no one else got to know of it in that way. Any one who cared much what
happened to me would have seen the all but impossibility of keeping such
a secret.'

It is a notable instance of evolutionary process that the female mind,
in wrath, flies to just those logical ineptitudes which most surely
exasperate the male intelligence. Tarrant gave a laugh of irate scorn.

'Why, you told me the other day that I cared particularly whether your
secret was discovered or not--that I only married you in the hope of
profiting by it?'

'Wouldn't any woman think so?'

'I hope not. I believe there are some women who don't rush naturally to
a base supposition.'

'Did I?' Nancy exclaimed, with a vehement passion that made her breast
heave. 'Didn't I give you time enough--believe in you until I could
believe no longer?'

The note of her thrilling voice went to Tarrant's heart, and his head
drooped.

'That may be true,' he said gravely. 'But go on with your explanation.
This woman came to you, and told you what she had discovered?'

'Yes.'

'And you allowed her to think you unmarried?'

'What choice had I? How was my child to be brought up if I lost
everything?'

'Good God, Nancy! Did you imagine I should leave you to starve?'

His emotion, his utterance of her name, caused her to examine him with a
kind of wonder.

'How did I know?--How could I tell, at that time, whether you were alive
or dead?--I had to think of myself and the c