we are
aware of."

Clara looked steadily at the wall for two or three minutes, whilst her
husband finished his breakfast.

"I wrote to Lettice last night," she said at last, "but, of course, I
knew nothing of this business then."

"I am very glad you did not. What on earth put Lettice into your head?
She has no conceivable interest in this miserable affair."

"I think it is rather too much to say that she has no interest at all.
We know that she was interested in him."

"We know that he is a married man."

Graham's tone was growing a little savage, as it did sometimes,
especially with his wife, whom he very sincerely loved. But Clara did
not heed the warning note.

"Facts are facts, and we should not ignore them. I am sure they like
each other, and his misfortune will be a great grief to her."

"It was just what was wanted, then, to bring her to her senses. She may
recognize now that Walcott is a man of ungovernable passions. In all
probability he will be a convicted felon before she comes back to
England, and she will see that it is impossible to know any more of
him."

"Oh, James, how hard you are! She will never think of him as a felon. No
more shall I!"

"He will be one, whatever you may think. As you said yourself, facts are
facts, and they will have their proper influence upon you sooner or
later."

"But do you think that Lettice is the woman to change her opinion of a
man just because he is unfortunate, or to despise him as soon as he gets
into trouble? I am perfectly sure she is not."

"We shall see," said Graham. "I give her credit for more sense. I don't
think you recognize yet the sort of offence which Walcott has committed,
so we may as well drop the subject for a time. I hope, however, that you
will not do anything which might bring her home just now. Clearly she
could not do any good, and even on your own showing it would be a
needless vexation to her."

He went off to his study, and Clara set about her household tasks with a
heavy heart.

The fact was that she could hardly doubt that Alan Walcott had injured
his wife in a moment of desperation, when he was not fully responsible
for his actions; but she certainly doubted the justice of any law which
could condemn him as a murderer; or doom him to be an outcast amongst
his fellowmen. Her sense of equity might have suited the Saturnian reign
better than our matter-of-fact nineteenth century, in which the precise
more or less of criminali