er her. She let herself out into the street and
walked straight back to her home. Caspar was out: she could not go to
him immediately, as she had said that she would do. She went to her room
and lay down upon the bed, feeling strangely tired and weak. In spite of
her haughty rebuttal of the charge against her husband, she was wounded
and oppressed by it. And as the time went on, she felt more and more the
difficulty of telling him her story, of asking him to clear himself. How
could she question him without seeming to doubt?

She fretted herself until a headache came on, and she was unable to go
down to dinner. Lesley brought her up a cup of tea, but her mother
refused her company. "I shall be better alone," she said. "Has your
father come in yet? Isn't he very late?"

It was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. Brooke came in, and, hearing that he
had been asked for, made his way to his wife's room. He bent over her
tenderly, asking her how she felt; and she put one hand up to his rough
cheek, without answering.

"What has made your head ache, my darling?" he asked.

"Caspar, I have been to see Mrs. Romaine."

She felt a sort of start or quiver go through him at the name. He put
his lips softly to her forehead before he spoke. "Well!" he said, a
little dryly.

"Did you--did she----"

Then she broke down, and sobbed a little with her face against her
husband's breast. Caspar's breath grew shorter--a sign of excitement
with him--but for a time he waited quietly and would not speak. He could
not all at once make up his mind what to say.

"Alice," he said at last, "if you ask me questions I suppose I must
answer them in one way or another. But--I think I had rather you did
not." He felt that every nerve was strained in self-control as she
listened to him. "Mrs. Romaine," he went on deliberately, "is not a
woman that I like--or--respect. I would very much prefer not to talk
about her."

"I must tell you just one thing," she whispered, "it was my feeling
about her--my jealousy of her--that made me leave you--twelve years
ago."

She had surprised him now. "Alice! Impossible," he said. "Why, my poor
girl, there was not the slightest reason. I can most solemnly swear to
you, Alice, that I never had any other feeling for Mrs. Romaine than
that of ordinary friendship. My dear, will you never believe that you
have always been the one woman in all the world for me?"

"Forgive me, Caspar," she murmured, "I do believe it now."