“Dear Clare, it is nothing about me. Let me come and see you after, and tell you about myself. This is business-mere business,” said Edgar, anxiously. “Nothing,” his voice faltered, “to interest you.” “You tell lies badly,” she said; “and he says nothing. What does it mean? What are these papers?--always papers--more papers--everything that is cruel is in them. Must I look for myself?” she continued, her voice breaking, with an agitation which she could not explain. She laid her hand upon some which lay strewed open upon the table. She saw Edgar watch the clutch of her fingers with a shudder, and that her husband kept his eyes upon her with a strange, horrified watchfulness. He seemed paralyzed, unable to interfere till she had secured them, when he suddenly grasped her hand roughly, and cried, “Come, give them up; there is nothing there for you!” Clare was not dutiful or submissive by nature. At the best of times such an order would have irritated rather than subdued her. “I will not,” she repeated, freeing her hand from the clutch that made it crimson. Only one of the papers she had picked up remained, a scrap that looked of no importance. She rose and hurried to the window with it, holding it up to the light. “She must have known it one day or other,” said Edgar, speaking rather to himself than to either of his companions. It was the only sound that broke the silence. After an interval of two minutes or so, Clare came back, subdued, and rather pale. “This is a marriage certificate, I suppose,” she said. “Yours, Arthur! You were married, then, before? You might have told me. Why didn’t you tell me? I should have had no right to be vexed if I had known before.” “Clare!” he stammered, looking at her in consternation. “Yes, I can’t help being vexed,” she said, her lip quivering a little, “to find out all of a sudden that I am not the first. I think you should have told me, Arthur, not left me to find it out. But, after all, it is only a shock and a mortification, not a crime, that you should look so frightened,” she added, forcing a faint smile. “I am not a termagant, to make your life miserable on account of the past.” Here Clare paused, looked from one to the other, and resumed, with a more anxious voice: “What do you mean, both of you, by looking at me? Is there more behind? Ay, I see!” her lip quivered more and more, her face grew paler, she restrained herself with a desperate effort. “Tell me the worst,” she said, hurriedly. “There are other children, older than mine! My boy will not be the heir?” “Clare! Clare!” cried Edgar, putting his arm round her, forgetting all that lay between them, tears starting to his eyes, “my dear, come away! Don’t ask any more questions. If you ever looked upon me as your brother, or trusted me, come--come home, Clare.” She shook off his grasp impatiently, and turned to her husband.