“Well?” he asks, “have you nothing to answer in self-defence? How dared you come to an honest man’s home with infidelity in your heart, lies on your lips. Don’t you know that you are a wicked----” “For God’s sake Delaval! For God’s sake! don’t say such things to me!” she interrupts hastily. “If you believe me to be so false--so bad--send me away from you, but I cannot live with you and learn that I have lost your love!” “Poor little woman!” he says, half relenting; “we cannot control our affections, so why should I blame you after all?” “Won’t you believe me if I swear, Delaval?” “I thought you never took an oath,” he says harshly. “I do not like to swear, but I will now, _now_ that all I hold most precious on earth is in the balance!” she sobs through her tears. “Swear then! Say ‘I love you and you only, so help me God!’” “I love you, Delaval, and only you, so help me God!” she says solemnly. “Oh! you believe me now, don’t you?” He looks at her. As has been said before in the olden days Phryne’s face and form moved her judges to mercy--so this fair face and form move him to belief. It is not possible that deceit can lurk behind her candid brow, her limpid eyes! “Come to me, little one!” In a moment she is in his arms, her white face pillowed on his breast, her lips smiling. “Ah! you believe me, Delaval, or you would not take me in your arms! you know I love you--darling--my own, own darling!--love you with _all_ my heart. I never, never think of any one else.” “Not even of--Conway?” But she does not shrink or blush at the name. “I do--sometimes,” she whispers, “but only to wonder how I could ever have cared about him at all.” Truth is stamped on every feature of her face. Truth shines in her glance. He would be more the man if he could resist this evidence. So, though he will not humiliate himself to his wife by acknowledging himself in the wrong, he gathers her closer to him and kisses her with the ardour of their honeymoon days. And she is content, she wants no more than this. “You have not asked about Trixy?” he says presently; “and I have something to tell you that will grieve you, my pet.” But she is nestling in his clasp, and it seems to her that nothing can grieve her very much _now_. “Is Trixy ill?” “No!” “Is she--but no--Delaval! it can’t be that Trixy is--dead!” she cries. “Dead to _you_--Zai--but not really dead, unfortunately for herself. Trixy left her husband yesterday and has gone away,”--he hesitates. “Where?” “With--_Carlton Conway_!” Gone away with Carlton Conway! For a second Zai looks at her husband as if she was stunned, and does not even realise the fact that he is watching her face with a keen searching glance. “Poor Trixy!” she says at last, but beyond an expression of pity on her mobile features, Lord Delaval fails to discover any regret. Still he remarks perversely, “_Lucky_ Trixy! you mean!”