protestations," she said; "I heard enough of them two years since. Will
you do what I ask of you?"

"You know that I will."

"Put an end to your acquaintance with my husband. Put an end to it," she
repeated vehemently, "from this day, at once and forever! Can I trust
you to do it?"

"Do you think I would have entered this house if I had known he was your
husband?" He made that reply with a sudden change in him--with a rising
color and in firm tones of indignation. In a moment more, his voice
softened again, and his kind blue eyes rested on her sadly and
devotedly. "You may trust me to do more than you ask," he resumed. "You
have made a mistake."

"What mistake?"

"When Mr. Romayne introduced us, you met me like a stranger--and you
left me no choice but to do as you did."

"I wish you to be a stranger."

Her sharpest replies made no change in his manner. He spoke as kindly
and as patiently as ever.

"You forget that you and your mother were my guests at Beaupark, two
years ago--"

Stella understood what he meant--and more. In an instant she remembered
that Father Benwell had been at Beaupark House. Had he heard of the
visit? She clasped her hands in speechless terror.

Winterfield gently reassured her. "You must not be frightened," he said.
"It is in the last degree unlikely that Mr. Romayne will ever find out
that you were at my house. If he does--and if you deny it--I will do for
you what I would do for no other human creature; I will deny it too. You
are safe from discovery. Be happy--and forget me."

For the first time she showed signs of relenting--she turned her head
away, and sighed. Although her mind was full of the serious necessity of
warning him against Father Benwell, she had not even command enough over
her own voice to ask how he had become acquainted with the priest.
His manly devotion, the perfect and pathetic sincerity of his respect,
pleaded with her, in spite of herself. For a moment she paused to
recover her composure. In that moment Romayne returned to them with the
drawing in his hand.

"There!" he said. "It's nothing, this time, but some children gathering
flowers on the outskirts of a wood. What do you think of it?"

"What I thought of the larger work," Winterfield answered. "I could look
at it by the hour together." He consulted his watch. "But time is a hard
master, and tells me that my visit must come to an end. Thank you, most
sincerely."

He bowed to Stella. Romayne though