e was safe at his lodgings, and put no
questions; but, on her returning to the sitting-room, Mrs. Cayhill's
sobs stopped abruptly, and several women spoke at once.

Johanna preserved her uncompromising attitude as they walked the
midnight streets. But as Maurice made no mien to explain matters
further, she so far conquered her aversion as to ask: "What have you
done to her?"

The young man's consternation at this view of the case was so evident
that even she felt the need of wording her question differently.

"Answer me. What is Ephie doing at your rooms?"

Maurice cleared his throat. "It's a long and unpleasant story, Miss
Cayhill. And I'm afraid I must tell it from the beginning.--You didn't
suspect, I fear, that ... well, that Ephie had a fancy for some one
here?"

At these words, which were very different from those she had expected,
Johanna eyed him in astonishment.

"A fancy!" she repeated incredulously. "What do you mean?"

"Even more--an infatuation," said Maurice with deliberation. "And for
some one I daresay you have never even heard of--a...a man here, a
violinist, called Schilsky."

The elaborate fabric she had that day reared, fell together about
Johanna's ears. She stared at Maurice as if she doubted his sanity; and
she continued to listen, with the same icy air of disbelief, to his
stammered and ineffectual narrative, until he said that he believed
"it" had been "going on since summer."

At this Johanna laughed aloud. "That is quite impossible," she said. "I
knew everything Ephie did, and everywhere she went."

"She met him nearly every day. They exchanged letters, and-----"

"It is impossible," repeated Johanna with vehemence, but less surely.

"----and a sort of engagement seems to have existed between them."

"And you knew this and never said a word to me?"

"I didn't know--not till to-night. I only suspected something--once ...
long ago. And I couldn't--I mean--one can't say a thing like that
without being quite sure----"

But here he broke down, conscious, as never before, of the negligence
he had been guilty of towards Ephie. And Johanna was not likely to
spare him: there was, indeed, a bitter antagonism to his half-hearted
conduct in the tone in which she said: "I stood to Ephie in a mother's
place. You might have warned me--oh, you might, indeed!"

They walked on in silence--a hard, resentful silence. Then Johanna put
the question he was expecting to hear.

"And what has all t