st time," he announced. "After the way
you behaved in Court, we can no longer be friends."

"I don't understand," she said in rather a faltering voice. "What have
I done?"

"Only perjured yourself," Shiel retorted. "The tale you told the judge
was very different to the tale you told me, therefore it is impossible
for us to continue our friendship. I could never have anything to do
with a woman whose word I can't rely upon--whose character I scorn,
whom I despise--and--" he was going to add, "detest," but checked
himself, and unable to trust himself in her presence any longer, he
gave her a glance of the utmost contempt, and wheeling round, walked
quickly away.

As in a dream, Lilian Rosenberg went upstairs to her room, and
throwing herself on the bed, buried her face in the pillow and
indulged in a fit of crying. It was not the thought of losing Shiel
that was so painful to her--she might have grown reconciled to
that--it was the thought of losing his esteem. Most people would agree
with her--would assure her she had done the right thing in looking
after number one. "What, after all, is perjury?" she argued. "Nearly
every one in this world perjure themselves at one time or
another--certainly all women."

But it was not the opinion of the majority she cared about--it was the
respect of the one; the respect she had wilfully and spitefully
sacrificed.

Was it too late to recover it?

With regard to Gladys she was very sceptical. The reluctance to accept
Hamar as her future husband she still believed to be all pretence, and
she felt convinced that Gladys, in her heart of hearts, was only too
glad to get the chance of marrying any one so rich. This being so, she
could not bring herself to think she had done Shiel any actual wrong.
Gladys would never marry him. The only person she had harmed was
herself. She had lied, and Shiel was not the sort of man to condone an
offence of that sort easily. Still, weeping would do no good; it would
only make her ugly. She got up, had tea, and went out. She could think
better in the open air--it soothed her. For some reason or
other--custom perhaps--she strolled towards Cockspur Street, and there
ran into one of the few people she particularly wished to
avoid--Kelson.

He was delighted to see her.

"It's nectar to me to be out again," he said. "Jerusalem!--it was
awful in the Courts. Have supper with me."

It was a fine starlight night--the air cool and refreshing, and a wild