ought it was splendid, Mr
Trent--I almost forgot that the story was my own, I was so interested.
And I want to say now, while I have this in my hand, how much I thank
you for your generous, chivalrous act in sacrificing this triumph of
yours rather than put a woman's reputation in peril. If all had been as
you supposed, the facts must have come out when the police took up the
case you put in their hands. Believe me, I understood just what you had
done, and I never ceased to be grateful even when I felt most crushed by
your suspicion.'

As she spoke her thanks her voice shook a little, and her eyes were
bright. Trent perceived nothing of this. His head was still bent. He
did not seem to hear. She put the envelope into his hand as it lay open,
palm upwards, on his knee. There was a touch of gentleness about the act
which made him look up.

'Can you--' he began slowly.

She raised her hand as she stood before him. 'No, Mr Trent; let me
finish before you say anything. It is such an unspeakable relief to me
to have broken the ice at last, and I want to end the story while I am
still feeling the triumph of beginning it.' She sank down into the sofa
from which she had first risen. 'I am telling you a thing that nobody
else knows. Everybody knew, I suppose, that something had come between
us, though I did everything in my power to hide it. But I don't think
any one in the world ever guessed what my husband's notion was. People
who know me don't think that sort of thing about me, I believe. And his
fancy was so ridiculously opposed to the facts. I will tell you what the
situation was. Mr Marlowe and I had been friendly enough since he came
to us. For all his cleverness--my husband said he had a keener brain
than any man he knew--I looked upon him as practically a boy. You know
I am a little older than he is, and he had a sort of amiable lack of
ambition that made me feel it the more. One day my husband asked me what
I thought was the best thing about Marlowe, and not thinking much about
it I said, "His manners." He surprised me very much by looking black at
that, and after a silence he said, "Yes, Marlowe is a gentleman; that's
so", not looking at me.

'Nothing was ever said about that again until about a year ago, when
I found that Mr Marlowe had done what I always expected he would
do--fallen desperately in love with an American girl. But to my disgust
he had picked out the most worthless girl, I do believe, of all those