that man Barmby and seek information from him
about my own wife?'

'I have had to do worse things than that.'

'Don't torture me by such vague hints. I entreat you to tell me at once
the worst that you have suffered. How did Barmby get to know of your
marriage? And why has he kept silent about it? There can't be anything
that you are ashamed to say.'

'No. The shame is all yours.'

'I take it upon myself, all of it; I ought never to have left you; but
that baseness followed only too naturally on the cowardice which kept
me from declaring our marriage when honour demanded it. I have played a
contemptible part in this story; don't refuse to help me now that I am
ready to behave more like a man. Put your hand in mine, and let us be
friends, if we mayn't be more.'

She sat irresponsive.

'You were a brave girl. You consented to my going away because it seemed
best, and I took advantage of your sincerity. Often enough that last
look of yours has reproached me. I wonder how I had the heart to leave
you alone.'

Nancy raised herself, and said coldly:

'It was what I might have expected. I had only my own folly to thank.
You behaved as most men would.'

This was a harder reproach than any yet. Tarrant winced under it. He
would much rather have been accused of abnormal villainy.

'And I was foolish,' continued Nancy, 'in more ways than you knew. You
feared I had told Jessica Morgan of our marriage, and you were right; of
course I denied it. She has been the cause of my worst trouble.'

In rapid sentences she told the story of her successive humiliations,
recounted her sufferings at the hands of Jessica and Beatrice and Samuel
Barmby. When she ceased, there were tears in her eyes.

'Has Barmby been here again?' Tarrant asked sternly.

'Yes. He has been twice, and talked in just the same way, and I had to
sit still before him--'

'Has he said one word that--?'

'No, no,' she interrupted hastily. 'He's only a fool--not man enough
to--'

'That saves me trouble,' said Tarrant; 'I have only to treat him like
a fool. My poor darling, what vile torments you have endured! And
you pretend that you would rather live on this fellow's interested
generosity--for, of course, he hopes to be rewarded--than throw the
whole squalid entanglement behind you and be a free, honest woman, even
if a poor one?'

'I see no freedom.'

'You have lost all your love for me. Well, I can't complain of that. But
bear my name you shall,