was why--she married,"
she whispered.

"Your mother herself told you that?" Sir Eustace's voice was very low,
but there was in it a danger-note that made her quail.

Someone was coming along the garden-path, but neither of them heard.
Dinah was crying with piteous, long-drawn sobs. The telling of that
tragic secret had wrung her very soul.

"Oh, don't be angry! You won't be angry?" she pleaded brokenly.

His hand was on her head. "My child, I am not angry with you," he said.
"You were not to blame. There, dear! There! Don't cry! Isabel will be
distressed if she finds out. We mustn't let her know of this."

"Or Scott either!" She lifted her face appealingly. "Eustace,
please--please--you won't tell Scott? I--I couldn't bear him to know."

He looked into her beseeching eyes, and his own softened. "It may be he
will have to know some day," he said. "But--not yet."

The halting steps drew nearer, uneven, yet somehow purposeful.

Abruptly Eustace became aware of them. He looked up sharply. "You had
better go, dear," he whispered to the girl in his arms. "Isabel may be
wanting you at any time. We must think of her first now. Run in quickly
and dry your eyes before anyone sees! Come along!"

He rose, supporting her, turned her towards the window, and gently but
urgently pushed her within.

She went swiftly, enough as he released her, went with her hands over her
face and not a backward glance. And Eustace wheeled back with a movement
that was almost fierce and met his brother as he set foot upon the
verandah.

Scott's face was pale as death, and there was that in his eyes that could
not be ignored. Eustace answered it on the instant, briefly, with a
restraint that obviously cost him an effort. "It's all right, Dinah is a
bit upset this evening. But she will be all right directly if we leave
her alone."

Scott did not so much as pause. "Let me pass!" he said.

His voice was perfectly quiet, but the command of it was such that
Eustace, taken unawares, gave ground as it were instinctively. But the
next moment impulsively he caught Scott's arm.

"I say,--Stumpy!" An odd embarrassment possessed him; he shook it off
half-angrily. "You needn't go making mistakes--jumping to idiotic
conclusions. I'm not cutting you out this time."

Scott looked at him. His light eyes held contempt. "Oh, I know that," he
said, and there was in his slow voice a note of bitter humour that cut
like a whip. "You are never in earnest. You