--do you know?"

"I will tell you that," he said, "when you have answered me quite fully
and unreservedly."

She cast an imploring look at him that did not reach his eyes. "But,
Trevor, nothing happened," she told him piteously. "That is to say,
nothing beyond--" She broke off short. "I was only a child. I didn't
know," she ended, in a confused murmur.

"What didn't you know?" Stern and pitiless came the question. His hands
were holding her wrists tightly locked. There was compulsion in their
grasp.

She answered him because she could not help it, but her words were
wild and incoherent. "I didn't know what it meant. I didn't see the harm
of it. I was too young. It all happened before I realized. And even
then--even then--I didn't understand--that it was serious--until--until--
the duel. Trevor--Trevor, you are hurting me!"

His hold relaxed, but he did not set her free. "Was that duel fought on
your account?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

"In what way?"

She was silent.

"Answer me," he said.

She clenched her hands in sudden, strenuous rebellion. "I don't know. I
never heard."

"Was it because you had compromised yourself with Bertrand de Montville?"

Very deliberately he asked the question, so deliberately that she could
not evade it.

"It is not fair to--to put it like that," she said.

"I am waiting to hear your own version," he told her grimly.

"You have only heard Aunt Philippa's, so far?" she hazarded.

"I have heard nothing whatever about what happened at Valpre from your
aunt," he answered. "But that is beside the point. Are you quite
incapable of telling me the truth?"

She winced sharply. "Trevor! Why are you so cruel? I have done nothing
wrong."

"Then look at me!" he said.

But she would not, for his eyes terrified her. Nor could she bring
herself to speak of Valpre under their piercing scrutiny. Only
close-locked in his arms could she have poured out the poor little secret
that she had sacrificed so much to keep. Not the nature of the adventure
itself, but the fact that she had given her love to the man who had
shared it with her, held her silent. She could not spread her love before
those pitiless eyes, and to disclose the one without the other had become
impossible to her.

And so she remained silent, counting the seconds as she felt his
forbearance ebb away.

When at last he moved and released her, she cowered almost as if she
expected a blow. Yet when he spoke, though