"There's a confectioner's just round the corner." He rang the bell. "Then, madeira. I didn't tell the servant who I was; better say 'my wife' casually when she comes in. I suppose you don't have ladies to tea and madeira cake, as a rule?" "Not as a rule," he said--"no." She laughed again, and stretched her shoes to the blaze luxuriously. "So this is the room. This is where you lived before we knew each other. How funny that it should be the first time I've been in it! I've often imagined you here, and it isn't the least bit like what I fancied, of course; I always saw the window over there! Well, talk to me--tell me all! what you are thinking about? I believe you find me plain now the hat's off!" Tea was brought to them in about a quarter of an hour, and they sat before the fire sipping it, and stealing glances at each other--the woman's, amused, delicious; Kent's, guilty and tortured. He was tempted to kiss her, but could not bring himself to do it deliberately; and with every phrase that fell from her lips his heart grew; heavier. "You've scarcely been to Strawberry Hill all the time, I hear," she said. "This is very good tea, Humphrey!" "Not very often; I've been so busy. Yes, it isn't bad, is it? the landlady gets it for me. Are they offended with me?" "H'mph! they'll look over it. You'll have to be very nice and repentant." "I will. I'll go this week if I can." "This week? You must take me to-night!" she cried. "What do you suppose is going to become of me? I can't stop here.... Shall I give you another cup?" Kent felt the blood sinking from his face. His hands shook as he bent over the fire, and for a moment he had no voice to reply. "You don't go back to Monmouth to-night?" he asked harshly, without looking at her. "N--no," she said; "I can't go back till to-morrow." "I was thinking of the child," he muttered. "He's as safe with the nurse as with me," she answered; "I wouldn't have left him even for a day if he hadn't been." "I see," said Kent. His pause appeared to him to become significant and terrible. "I can't go there with you this evening," he said abruptly; "it can't be done. I have to be here--there is some one I must meet. I mean, I can take you there, but I can't possibly stay. You--you must forgive me, Cynthia." Still he was not looking at her. When she spoke, her tone was different. "You will do as you like," she said quietly. He lifted himself, and faced her. "Cynthia!" "Well?" "Cynthia, don't think I don't care for you." She did not answer, but she was very pale, and her lips were proudly set. "You're angry with me?" he stammered. "What prevents you--your business? If you're too late for a train, there are hansoms. It would be expensive, I know----" "'Expensive!'" "Perhaps it might cost half a sovereign." "Cynthia! It's impossible." "Oh, please don't let's talk about it!" she said. "I made a mistake, that's all. I've made a good many since I married you; this was one more."