ked wistfully into his face.

"Lance," she said, "are we to quarrel--over a woman, too? I will not
believe it. You have always been honest with me; tell me what Madame
Vanira is to you?"

"She is nothing to me," he replied.

Then the remembrance of what she had been to him came over him and froze
the words on his lips. His wife was quick to notice it.

"You cannot say it with truth. Oh, Lance, how you pain me."

There was such absolute, physical pain in her face that he was grieved
for her.

"Say no more about it, Marion," he cried. "I did ask madame to let me
row her on the river; I know she loves the river; I ought to have asked
you to go with us, or to have told you about it," he said; "I know that;
but people often do imprudent things. Kiss me and say no more about it."

But for the first time that sweet girl looked coldly on him. Instead of
bending down to kiss him, she looked straight into his face.

"Lance," she said, "do you like Madame Vanira?"

His answer was prompt.

"Most decidedly I do," he answered; "every one must like her."

"Lady Ilfield says that you are her shadow. Is that true?"

"Lady Ilfield is a gossip, and the wife who listens to scandal about her
husband lowers herself."

She did not shrink now from his words.

"I have not gossiped about you, Lance," she said; "but I wish you
yourself to tell me why people talk about you and Madame Vanira."

"How can I tell? Why do people talk? Because they have nothing better to
do."

But that did not satisfy her; her heart ached; this was not the manner
in which she had expected him to meet the charge--so differently--either
to deny it indignantly, or to give her some sensible explanation. As it
was, he seemed to avoid the subject, even while he owned that it was
true.

"I am not satisfied, Lance," she said; "you have made me very unhappy;
if there is anything to tell me tell it now."

"What should I have to tell you?" he asked, impatiently.

"I do not know; but if there is any particular friendship or
acquaintance between Madame Vanira and yourself, tell me now."

It would have been better if he had told her, if he had made an open
confession of his fault, and have listened to her gentle counsel, but he
did not; on the contrary, he looked angrily at her.

"If you wish to please me, you will not continue this conversation,
Marion; in fact, I decline to say another word on the subject. I have
said all that was needful, let it end now."