ave
married?"

"No. I mean the thing that led me away from this life, and--the man you
have named."

"I don't believe I understand, Bess."

"You ought to. You drank me dry once, every drop of confidence I
possessed, for two weeks."

"You mean I myself am the cause," said the man low.

"I repeat you have the compliment--if you consider it such."

Again there was silence. Within the stable door, during all the time,
the grey wolf had not stirred. He was observing them now, steadily,
immovably. Though it was bright sunlight without, against the background
of the dark interior his eyes shone as though they were afire.

"Honestly, Bess," said the man, low as before, "I'm sorry if I have
made you unhappy."

"I thought we had decided to be truthful for once," answered a voice.

"You're unjust, horribly unjust!"

"No. I merely understand you--now. You're not sorry, because otherwise
you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't dare to be here--even though my
husband were away."

Again instinctively the man's face reddened. It was decidedly a novelty
in his life to be treated as he was being treated this day. Ordinarily
glib of speech, for some reason in the face of this newfound emotionless
characterisation, he had nothing to say. It is difficult to appear what
one is not in the blaze of one's own fireside. It was impossible under
the scrutiny of this wide-eyed girl, with the recollection of events
gone by.

"All right, Bess," he admitted at last, with an effort, "we've got other
things more interesting than myself to discuss anyway." He looked at her
openly, significantly. "Your own self, for instance."

"Yes?"

"I'm listening. Tell me everything."

"You really fancy I will after--the past?"

"Yes."

"And why, please?"

"You've already told me why."

"That's right," meditatively. "I'd forgotten. We were going to be
ourselves, our natural worst selves, to-day."

"I'm still listening."

"You're patient. What do you most wish to know?"

"Most? The thing most essential, of course. Do you love your husband?
You're unhappy, I know. Is that the reason?"

The girl looked out, out over the prairies, meditatively, impassively.
Far in the distance, indistinguishable to an untrained eye, a black dot
stood out above the horizon line. Her eyes paused upon it.

"You'll never tell anyone if I answer?" she asked suddenly.

"Never, Bess."

"You swear it?"

"I swear."

Just perceptibly the girl's lips twitched.

"