ought that Jack Meredith should learn aught of Millicent
Chyne from her. Her own inner motive in divulging what she had learnt
from Guy Oscard could never for a moment be hidden behind a wish,
however sincere, to act for the happiness of two honourable gentlemen.

Jocelyn had no one to consult--no one to whom she could turn, in the
maddening difficulty of her position, for advice or sympathy. She had to
work it out by herself, steering through the quicksands by that compass
that knows no deviation--the compass of her own honour and maidenly
reserve.

Just because she was so sure of her own love she felt that she could
never betray the falseness of Millicent Chyne. She felt somehow that
Millicent's fall in Jack Meredith's estimation would drag down with
it the whole of her sex, and consequently herself. She did not dare to
betray Millicent, because the honour of her sex must be held up by an
exaggerated honour in herself. Thus her love for Jack Meredith tied her
hands, while she stood idly by to see him wreck his own life by what
could only be a miserable union.

With the clear sight of the onlooker, Jocelyn Gordon now saw that, by
Jack Meredith's own showing, Millicent was quite unworthy of him. But
she also remembered words, silences, and hints which demonstrated with
lamentable plainness the fact that he loved her. She was old enough and
sufficiently experienced to avoid the futile speculation as to what had
attracted this love. She knew that men marry women who in the estimation
of onlooking relatives are unworthy of them, and live happily ever
afterwards, without deeming it necessary to explain to those relatives
how it comes about.

Now it happened that this woman--Jocelyn Gordon--was not one of those
who gracefully betray themselves at the right moment and are immediately
covered with a most becoming confusion. She was strong to hold to
her purpose, to subdue herself, to keep silent. And this task she
set herself, having thought it all carefully out in the little
flower-scented verandah, so full of pathetic association. But it must be
remembered that she in no wise seemed to see the pathos in her own life.
She was unconscious of romance. It was all plain fact, and the plainest
was her love for Jack Meredith.

Her daily life was in no perceptible way changed. Maurice Gordon saw no
difference. She had never been an hilarious person. Now she went about
her household, her kindnesses, and unobtrusive good works wi