e settled in kind rather than in cash. And jewellery pretty nearly
always realizes its own value. But this was a gift--a substitute for
other things that I would rather have given you."

He paused and looked steadily at her, her head drooping, her fingers
idly, nervously bending the woven gold.

"Have you any idea what those other things were?" he asked suddenly.

"No," she said--but she did not offer her eyes to convince him of
her reply.

"They were the alteration of all your circumstances. The smashing
of the chains that gave you to that damned treadmill of a
typewriter--the unlocking of the door that keeps you mewed-up in that
little lodging-house in Kew--rubbing shoulders with bank-clerks,
being compelled to listen to their proposals of suburban marriage,
with the prospect of feeding your husband as the stable-boy feeds
the horse when it comes back to the manger. Those were the things
I wanted to free you from, and in their place, give you everything
you could ask, so far as my limited income permits. I only wanted
to give you the things you ought to have--the things you should have
by right--the things you were born to. Your father was a clergyman--a
rector. Why, down at Apsley, the rector comes and dines--for the sake
of God--and respectability--and brings his daughters, dressed in
their Sunday best--with low-necked frocks that make no pretence to
be puritanical. And you slave, day after day, because your father,
through no fault of yours, happened to come down in the world, while
they sit in a comfortable rectory accepting the invitations of the
county. I wanted to give you things that 'ud make your life
brighter--_wanted_ to give them--would have found intense pleasure
in seeing you take them from me."

Sally rose with a choking of breath to her feet. She could bear the
strain no longer. It was like an incessant hammer beating upon her
strength, shattering her resolve, until only the desire and the sense
were left. She crossed with unsteady steps to the mantelpiece. He
rose as well, and followed her.

"Oh--don't!" she moaned. But he took no notice. The impetus he had
gained, carried him on. She could not stop him now.

"They were not much, certainly," he went on; "not much compared with
what I wanted in return. What I wanted in return, was what no
gentleman has the right to expect from any woman who is straight
unless she willingly offers it--and you had called me a gentleman.
Do you remember that? I d