with the
rest of the world. He can't be blamed for disloyalty, either, for really
there was nothing else to think, if one used one's reason."

"If he had been _my_ friend, I would not have used my reason!" exclaimed
Virginia. "What is the use of reason, when one has instinct?--and that is
never wrong. But it is good of you to defend the Marchese, for I know you
don't like him."

"Don't I?" echoed Roger. "If I don't, I'm afraid it is because you _do_.
You won't have me, dear; you've told me that, and I don't mean to bother
you again; but I'm weak enough to be jealous when I think there's danger
of your saying 'Yes' to anybody else."

"I don't know that there is any such danger in this case," said Virginia.
"But the Marchese is very handsome, and rather romantic, and he sings
like an angel. Oh, yes, I am almost in love with him when he sings--or I
was till yesterday. And how he dances! It's poetry. When I am waltzing
with the Marchese Loria I invariably make up my mind that I will accept
him next time he asks. Then, afterward, something holds me back. To-day,
in that valley of shadows, he affected me quite differently. It was as
if--as if the shadows had shut down between us. I saw him in the shadow,
his features changed--repellent. As the French say, he 'made me horror.'
Yet I didn't know why. Now I begin to understand. It was my precious
instinct warning me, saying: 'This man is disloyal. Don't trust him.'"

"You are unjust," said Roger. "I should like to let you misjudge him, but
I can't be a bounder, you know. He really behaved extremely well in the
Dalahaide affair. The man couldn't believe, against a mountain of
evidence; nevertheless, he did what he could for his friend, guilty as he
thought him. All this happened four years ago, when you were a demure
little schoolgirl--if you ever _could_ have been demure!--in your own
Virginia, not allowed even to hear of, much less read, the great
newspaper scandals of the moment. I can't remember every detail of the
affair, but it was said to be largely through Loria's efforts that Max
was saved from capital punishment for his crime."

"You haven't told me yet what that crime was."

"Yes. I have said it was murder."

"Ah! but that is only a crude statement. I ask for the story."

"You won't have it from me, my child," answered Roger coolly. "I'm not a
sensation-monger. It was a horrid affair, and one doesn't talk of such
things to little girls. You know all from me tha