es, that was it. And I suppose I looked incredulous." Thus Fenwick.

"You looked incredulous. I would sooner you should believe me. Would
you hand me down that fire-screen off the chimney-piece? Thank you."
She was hardening herself to the task she had before her. He gave her
the screen, and as he resumed his seat drew it nearer to her. Mozart's
Op. 999 had just started, and it was a little doubtful if voices could
be heard unless, in Sally's phrase, they were close to.

"I shall believe you. Does what you were going to tell me relate
to----"

"Go on."

"To your husband?"

"Yes." The task had become easier suddenly. She breathed more freely
about what was to come. "I wish you to know that he may be still
living. I have heard nothing to the contrary. But I ought to speak
of him as the man who was my husband. He is no longer that." Fenwick
interposed on her hesitation.

"You have divorced him?" But she shook her head--shook a long
negative. And Fenwick looked up quickly, and uttered a little sharp
"Ah!" as though something had struck him. The slow head-shake said as
plain as words could have said it, "I wish I could say yes." So
expressive was it that Fenwick did not even speculate on the third
alternative--a separation without a divorce. He saw at once he could
make it easier for her if he spoke out plain, treating the bygone as
a thing that _could_ be spoken of plainly.

"He divorced you?" She was very white, but kept her eyes steadily
fixed on him over the fire-screen, and her voice remained perfectly
firm and collected. The music went on intricately all the while. She
spoke next.

"To all intents and purposes. There was a technical obstacle to a
legal divorce, but he tried for one. We parted sorely against my will,
for I loved him, and now it is over nineteen years since I saw him
last, or heard of him or from him. But he was absolutely blameless.
Unless, indeed, it is to be counted blame to him that he could not
bear what no other man could have borne. I cannot possibly give you
all details. But I wish you to hear this that I have to tell you from
myself. It is painful to me to tell, but it would be far worse that
you should hear it from any one else. I feel sure it is safe to tell
you; that you will not talk of it to others--least of all to that
little chick of mine."

"You may trust me--indeed, you may--without reserve. I see you wish
to tell me no more, so I will not ask it."

"And blame me as little