"Jack," she began, industriously scrutinising the vista of the room reflected by an ancient convex mirror hanging on the far wall, "I want to say something. I want to say that I am sorry. I have done you an injustice. I always thought you were a hard man, and I have discovered that you are not. In fact," she continued with a flicker of a smile, "I have found out that you are very much the other thing." She paused. "May I ask for chapter and verse?" said Juggernaut. "_Yes!_" The old Daphne flashed forth. "Here are you, fighting all these men with one hand, giving no quarter, and all that sort of thing--" Juggernaut stirred suddenly in his seat--"and feeding the women and children with the other! Aren't you, now?" She pointed an accusing finger. "Since you tax me with it--yes," said her husband. Daphne turned upon him impulsively, with the firelight full on her face. "Jack," she said softly, "it was splendid of you!" He looked up and saw that her eyes were glowing. She came a step nearer, and her head drooped prettily. "And I'm sorry if I have been unfair to you, Jack," she continued. "I--I thought you were just a feelingless sort of man, whose work was his world, and who cared for nothing but himself and what he had in view, and regarded women as merely useful things to keep house, and have babies, and so on. But now I _know_ that I was wrong. There is more of you than that. Being me, I had to tell you." She ended with a little catch in her voice. She had made her effort. She had humbled herself, and in so doing she had laid herself open to the cruellest of rebuffs. She waited tremulously. A hard word, a scornful smile, even silence now--and two lives would fall asunder for ever. But the wheels of Juggernaut had never passed over a woman. "Will you sit down?" said Sir John gently. He made room for her, and she sank down beside him, leaning her head against the high back of the settle and gazing unwinkingly into the fire. She was conscious now that this man was overflowing with tenderness towards her, but she would not look him in the face yet. "How did you find out about the rations to the women?" he enquired presently. Daphne told him. "But you mustn't blame Jim Carthew," she said in conclusion. "He simply _had_ to tell me." "Where did you see him?" "Last week, in Algiers. In fact, he brought me home; but I made him promise not to tell you I was in London. He _is_ a good sort!" she added irrelevantly. "In what way?" asked her husband curiously. Daphne turned and surveyed him. "Would you be angry if I told you--jealous, I mean?" "What right have I to be angry or jealous?" said Juggernaut simply. "In what way," he repeated, "has Carthew been showing that he is a good sort?"