As she spoke, Harry glanced towards her to discover whether she had been really too much pre-engrossed to attend to him, or whether she merely affected to have been so for the amiable purpose of provoking him; deciding in favour of the first hypothesis, he resumed: “I was saying, my dear Alice, that although your flirtation with that foolish boy, Alfred Courtland, had caused me some uneasiness--because people dared to remark on it, unluckily not in a way that I could take up--yet that I was convinced it was merely thoughtlessness on your part, and was anxious to forgive and forget it.” If he had expressly tried to rouse Alice from the state of gloomy depression into which she had fallen, Harry could not have devised means more effectual than the speech he had just addressed to her. With flashing eyes she heard him to the end, then inquired: “And pray who has dared--(you may well use the word!)--who has dared to accuse me of flirting? But I need not ask,” she continued, bitterly; “no one but Miss Crofton would have ventured to asperse your wife’s character before you--from no one else would you have listened to such a falsehood--no one else could have induced you to believe it!” Astonished, and, if the truth must be told, somewhat confounded at having the tables thus turned upon him, Harry exclaimed, “Alice, what do you mean? what are you talking about? have you taken leave of your senses all of a sudden?” “If I had I should scarcely be surprised,” was the rejoinder; “but I know only too well what I am saying, and the cause I have to say and believe it; however, I do not want to reproach you, that would do no good; but--but--knowing what I know--” an hysterical sob choked her voice--“it is too hard that _you_ should accuse _me_ of flirting”--and here, utterly overcome by her feelings, she burst into a paroxysm of weeping. Wholly confounded at this unexpected result of his very mild remonstrance, which had been intended more as a judicious way of forgiving Alice’s misdemeanours than as a reprimand, Harry led her to a seat, and then used his best endeavours to console and bring her to reason; but in vain, nor was it until she was fain to stop through sheer physical exhaustion that her tears ceased; by which time, what between bodily fatigue (she had not been in bed until between three and four on the previous night, or rather morning, could not sleep then, and had accomplished a railroad journey since) and mental agitation, she was so completely worn out that even Harry, who was not usually too clear-sighted on such points, perceived this was not a fitting opportunity to continue the discussion. CHAPTER XL.--DEEPER AND DEEPER STILL.