-and why is not
some harm said of _you_? It is not your place to speak against my
husband. It is shameful and treacherous! You do forget yourself most
wickedly!"

And she moved to leave the room. But Sir Francis interposed.

"Lady Errington," he said very gently, "don't be hard upon me--pray
forgive me! Of course I've no business to speak--but how can I help it?
When I hear every one at the clubs discussing you, and pitying you, it's
impossible to listen quite unmoved! I'm the least among your friends, I
know,--but I can't bear this sort of thing to go on,--the whole affair
will be dished up in the society papers next!"

And he paced the room half impatiently,--a very well-feigned expression
of friendly concern and sympathy on his features. Thelma stood
motionless, a little bewildered--her head throbbed achingly, and there
was a sick sensation of numbness creeping about her.

"I tell you it is all wrong!" she repeated with an effort. "I do not
understand why these people at the clubs should talk of me, or pity me.
I do not need any pity! My husband is all goodness and truth,"--she
stopped and gathered courage as she went on. "Yes! he is better, braver,
nobler than all other men in the world, it seems to me! He gives me all
the joy of my life--each day and night I thank God for the blessing of
his love!"

She paused again. Sir Francis turned and looked at her steadily. A
sudden thought seemed to strike her, for she advanced eagerly, a sweet
color flushing the pallor of her skin.

"You can do so much for me if you will!" she said, laying her hand on
his arm. "You can tell all these people who talk so foolishly that they
are wrong,--tell them how happy I am! And that my Philip has never
deceived me in any matter, great or small!"

"Never?" he asked with a slight sneer. "You are sure?"

"Sure!" she answered bravely. "He would keep nothing from me that it was
necessary or good for me to know. And I--oh! I might pass all my life in
striving to please him, and yet I should never, never be worthy of all
his tenderness and goodness! And that he goes many times to a theatre
without me--what is it? A mere nothing--a trifle to laugh at! It is not
needful to tell me of such a small circumstance!"

As she spoke she smiled--her form seemed to dilate with a sort of inner
confidence and rapture.

Sir Francis stared at her half shamed,--half savage. The beautiful,
appealing face, bright with simple trust, roused him to no sor