"Very doubtful whether he will want to, I should think," Maraton remarked, leaning against the table. "You certainly didn't mince your words." "If I could have thought of harsher ones, I would have used them," she asserted. "What a waste of time it has been this evening!" He sighed, as his fingers turned over the pile of letters by his side. "What with Mr. Peter Dale and his little deputation, and this idiotic person Graveling, I have scarcely done a thing since I got home." "There's nothing that you need do until to-morrow," she told him softly. There was another brief pause. She was sitting up now--leaning back in her chair, indeed--trembling no longer, although the colour still flamed in her cheeks. Her eyes, which seldom left his face, were strangely, almost liquidly soft. Maraton moved restlessly in his place. Perhaps he had been unwise not to have stolen out of the room during the first few moments. Julia, as he very well knew, was no ordinary person, and he felt a sense of growing uneasiness. The tension of silence became ominous and he spoke simply to dissipate it. "I hope I really didn't hurt the fellow." "If you had killed him," she replied, "he deserved it!" "He was an insulting beast, of course," Maraton continued. "After all, though, one mustn't bring oneself down to the level of these creatures. He saw with his eyes, and what is seen from that point of view isn't of any account. Perhaps it isn't his fault that he hasn't learnt to govern himself. If I were you, Julia, I wouldn't bother about it any more, really." "It wasn't altogether what he said," she whispered. "It wasn't altogether that." He looked at her enquiringly. "You mean?" She shook her head. "Tell me?" he begged. Once more he saw that little quiver pass through her frame. Her lips were parted and closed again. Maraton was puzzled, but did his best to follow her line of thought. "The only way to treat such a person," he continued, "is to treat him as a lunatic. That is what he really is. I scarcely heard what he said; already I have forgotten every word." "But I can't! I never can!" He shrugged his shoulders. "My dear Julia," he protested, "I appeal to your common sense!" She looked at him almost angrily. Her foot beat upon the floor. "What has common sense to do with it!" she exclaimed. "Of course, it was a foolish thing to say. He didn't even believe it--I am sure of that. It was simply mad, insensate jealousy; a vicious attempt to make me suffer. That isn't where he hurt. It was because--shall I tell you?" A sudden instinct warned him. He held out his hand. "It will only distress you. No, I don't want to hear." The momentary silence seemed endowed with peculiar qualities. They heard the little clock ticking upon the mantelpiece, the tinkle of a hansom bell outside, the muffled sound of motor horns in the distance. Very slowly her head drooped back once more to the shelter of her hands.