l excuse the
liberty I have taken, my lord."

"Ponderby, as I have often told you, you are a gem! I will go into your
room, but you must remain there while I talk to this lady. No more
_tete-a-tete_ conversations with the unprotected for me."

"I think she is honest, my lord, but in deep trouble."

[Illustration: "Reeling off what she had to say as if it were a task
learned by rote."]

"I am glad to have my opinion corroborated by so good a judge of
character as yourself, Ponderby."

They went together to the valet's sitting-room, and there sat the woman,
with her dark head bowed upon arms outstretched along the table, her
shoulders shaking. She was plainly on the verge of hysterics, if,
indeed, she had not already crossed the boundary line.

"Here is Mr. Trevelyan, madam," said Ponderby. "You wanted to speak with
him."

She raised her head, dabbed her wet eyes nervously with her
handkerchief, and made an effort to pull herself together. When she
spoke, it was with rapid utterance, reeling off what she had to say as
if it were a task learned by rote.

"I have at last come to the end of my tether, and to-night, if there is
no prospect of freedom, I shall destroy myself. Before this I have often
thought of suicide, but I am a cowardly person, and cling to life. Five
years ago my father went out to America bent on a motor tour; he took me
with him. Among other servants he engaged Charles Branksome, who had
proved himself an expert chauffeur. He was English, and came to us well
recommended. He intimated that he was of good family, but had his living
to earn. He was handsome then, and had a most ingratiating manner. The
person who called on you to-night bears little resemblance to the
Branksome of five years ago. I had often gone motoring with him while
in America, and I was young, and rather flighty: a foolish person
altogether. Perhaps you read about it in the papers. I cannot dwell on
the appalling mistake I made.

"We became very well acquainted, and at last he professed to have fallen
in love with me, and I believed him. We were secretly married before a
justice of the peace in America, and I was not long left in doubt as to
the disaster that had befallen me. His sole desire was money. My father
being wealthy, he hoped to get all he cared to demand. My father,
however, is a very stubborn man, and, after his first shock on finding
the episode made much of by the American papers, he refused to pay
Branksome