seem to be made different.--Oh,
there's nothing to tell. The same thing happens a hundred times every
day in London. A girl wandering about in the Park--quarrel at home--all
the rest of it. A good many lies on her side; a good deal of
selfishness on mine. I happened to have money just then. And just when
I had _no_ money--about the time you met me--a child was born. She said
it was mine; anyway, I had to be responsible. Of course I had long ago
repented of behaving so badly to Henrietta. But no woman can
understand, and it's impossible to explain to them. You're a beast and
a villain, and there's an end of it.'

'And how has this become known to Miss Winter?' Harvey inquired, seeing
that Morphew lost himself in gloom.

'You might almost guess it; these things always happen in the same way.
You've heard me speak of a fellow called Driffel--no? I thought I might
have mentioned him. He got to know the girl. He and I were at a
music-hall one night, and she met us; and I heard, soon after, that she
was living with him. It didn't last long. She got ill, and wrote to me
from Westminster Hospital; and I was foolish enough to give her money
again, off and on, up to only a few months ago. She talked about living
a respectable life, and so on, and I couldn't refuse to help her. But I
found out it was all humbug, and of course I stopped. Then she began to
hunt me, Out of spite. And she heard from someone--Driffel, as likely
as not--all about Henrietta; and yesterday Henrietta had a letter from
her. This morning I was sent for, to explain myself.'

'At one time, then, you had lost sight of her altogether?'

'She has always had money from me, more or less regularly, except at
the time that Driffel kept her. But there has been nothing else between
us, since that first year. I kept up payments on account of the child,
and she was cheating me in that too. Of course she put out the baby to
nurse, and I understood it lived on; but the truth was it died after a
month or two--starved to death, no doubt. I only learnt that, by taking
a good deal of trouble, when she was with Driffel.'

'Starved to death at a month or two old,' murmured Rolfe. 'The best
thing for it, no doubt.'

'It's worse than anything I have done,' said Morphew, miserably. 'I
think more of it now than I did at the time. A cruel, vile thing!'

'And you told Miss Winter everything?'

'Everything that can be spoken about. The plain truth of the story. The
letter was