"When I was thinking I might as well die, I said, 'If _he_ were in trouble today, I'd be tender and kind to him. But when I cried out to him, what I got was no faith--no help--only suspicion.' All my devotion since I've known you--it counted for nothing the moment you knew something was wrong. And I was half-crazy with fear just at the thought of losing you." Her look said that she had no such fear now. He shifted his feet uneasily. "Then I said to myself, 'Why, you poor thing, it's only a question of time when you'd lose him anyhow.' Even if we married, Felix, we wouldn't be happy long. It would be like living over a charge of dynamite. Any minute our home might blow up." He smiled loftily. "And Miss--er--What's-her-name, she fixed everything?" "She helped me! I've never met anyone just like her before. I've met plenty of the holier-than-thou variety. That's the only sort I knew before I ran away from my husband." She was finding relief in talking so frankly. "Then there's Tottie's kind--ugh! But Miss Milo is the new kind--a woman with a fair attitude toward other women; with a generous attitude toward mistakes even. That old lady you saw go in--she's so good that she'd send me to the stake." She laughed. "But her daughter--if she knew that I had sinned as much as you have, she'd treat me even better than she'd treat you." "You'll be a militant next," he observed sneeringly. "Oh, I'm one already! But I'm not blaming anything on anybody else. For whatever's gone wrong, I can just thank myself. All these ten years, I've taken the attitude that I mustn't be discovered--that I must hide, hide, hide. I have been living over a charge of dynamite, and I set it myself. I've been afraid of a scarecrow that I dressed myself. "I don't know why I did it. Because if they'd ever traced me, what harm would it have done?--I wouldn't have gone back unless I was carried by main force. But the papers said I was dead. So I just set myself to keep the idea up. Next thing, I met you. Then I wasn't afraid of a shadow--I had something real to fear: losing you. "But now I don't care what you think, or what you're going to do, or what you say. I'm not even going to let Alan Farvel think that Barbara's his--when she isn't." He shot a swift look at her. So! The child was her own, after all! His lip curled. She understood. "Oh, get the whole thing clear while you're about it," she said indifferently. "I'm not trying to cover. At least I didn't lose sight of the child. Miss Milo praised me for that.--But--the truth is, I'm not like most other women. I'm not domestic. I never can be. Why worry about it." "You take it all very cool, I must say! And you're jolly sure of yourself. Don't need help, eh? Highty-tighty all at once." But there was a note of respect in his voice. "I've got friends," she said proudly. "And if I need help I know where to get it." The maid entered. "Your tea is ready, Miss."