le silence, and then she continued in a strained and
unnatural tone.

"There was a woman--another woman--whom he loved. That is all."

Lesley shivered and hid her face. To her mind, young and innocent as it
was, the fact which her mother stated seemed like an indelible stain.
She hardly dared as yet think what it meant. And, after a long pause,
Lady Alice went on quietly--

"I do not want to exaggerate. I do not believe that he meant to leave
me--even to be untrue to me. I could not speak to you of him if I
thought him so black-hearted, so treacherous. I mean simply this--take
the fact as I state it, and inquire no further; I found that my husband
cared for some one else more than he cared for me. My resolution was
taken at once: I packed up my things, left his house, and threw myself
at my father's feet. He was good to me and forgave me, and since
then ... I have never entered my husband's house again."

"He must have been wicked--wicked!" said Lesley, in a strangled voice.

"No, he was not wicked. Let me do him so much justice. He was upright
on the whole, I believe. He never meant to give me cause for complaint.
But I had reason to believe that another woman suited him better than
I did ... and it was only fair to leave him."

"But did he--could he--marry her? I mean----"

"My poor Lesley, you are very ignorant," said Lady Alice, smiling a wan
smile, and touching the girl's cheek lightly with her hand. "How could
he marry another woman when I was alive? Your father and I separated on
account of what is called incompatibility of temper. The question of the
person whom he apparently preferred to me never arose between us."

"Then, is it not possible, mamma, that you may have been mistaken?" said
Lesley, impetuously.

Lady Alice shook her head. "Quite impossible, Lesley. I accuse your
father of nothing. I only mean that another woman--one of his
friends--would have suited him better than I, and that he knew it. I
have no cause for complaint against him. And I would not have told you
_this_, had I not felt it a duty to put in the strongest possible light
my reasons for leaving him, so that a day may never come when you turn
round upon me and blame me--as others have done--for fickleness, for
ill-temper, for impatience with my husband; because now you know--as no
one else knows--the whole truth."

"But I should never blame you, mamma."

"I do not know. I know this--that your father is a man who can persuade
a