"That's your affair," Desmond answered unmoved. "You are a better hand at it than I am. My only concern is that you shall put an end to this equivocal state of things for good." At that she hid her face again, with a sob of despair. "I can't do it--I _can't_. It's impossible!" she murmured vehemently more to herself than to him. Her unexpected opposition fanned his smouldering wrath to a blaze. He took her by the shoulder--not roughly, but very decisively. "_Impossible!_ What am I to understand by that?" It was the first time he had touched her untenderly; and she quivered in every nerve. "I--I don't know. I can't explain. But--it's true." For one instant he stood speechless;--then: "Great Heavens, Evelyn!" he broke out, "don't you see that you are forcing upon me a suspicion that is an insult to us both?" She looked up at him in blank bewilderment, then jerked herself free from his hand. "I--I don't understand what you mean. But if you _will_ think horrid things of me you may. I can't explain and--I won't!" "You--_won't_," Desmond repeated slowly, frozen incredulity in his eyes; and she, fearing she had gone too far, caught at the hand she had shaken off. "Oh, Theo, what _does_ it matter after all?" she urged between irritation and despair, "when you know quite well it's you--that I love?" The appeal was too ill-timed to be convincing; and Desmond's smile had a tinge of bitterness in it. "You have an uncommonly original way of showing it," he said coldly; "and the statement doesn't square with your refusal to explain yourself. You have broken up the foundations of--things to-day, Evelyn! You have killed my trust in you altogether. You may remember, perhaps,--what that involves." And withdrawing his hand he turned and left her. But he had roused her at last by the infliction of a pain too intense for tears. She sprang up, knocking over the chair that fell with a thud on the carpet, and hurried after him, clinging to his unresponsive arm. "Theo, Theo, take care what you say! Do you mean--truthfully that you don't--love me any more?" "God knows," he answered wearily. "Let me alone now, for Heaven's sake, till I can see things clearer. But I'll not alter my decision about Kresney, whatever your mysterious impossibilities may be." Freeing himself gently but deliberately, he went over to the verandah door and stood there, erect, motionless, his back towards her, looking out upon the featureless huts of the servants' quarters with eyes that saw nothing save a vision of his wife's face, as it had shone upon him, more than two years ago, in the Garden of Tombs. And it was shining upon him now--had he but guessed it,--not with the simple tenderness of girlhood; but with the despairing half-worshipping love of a woman. When he heard the door close softly behind her, he came back into the room, mechanically righted the chair, and sitting down upon it buried his face in his hands. CHAPTER XXXII. EVEN TO THE UTMOST.