“And what have I done now?” she countered. “As if you didn’t know. You’ve been behaving abominably.” “It is you who have behaved abominably,” she half-sobbed, in spite of her determination to betray no such feminine signs of weakness. “Who asked you to marry her? You did not draw the short straw. Yet you must volunteer, must rush in where even angels would fear to tread? Did I ask you to? Almost did my heart stop beating when I heard you tell Henry you would marry her. I thought I was going to faint. You had not even consulted me; yet it was on my suggestion, in order to save you from her, that the straws were drawn——yes, and I am not too little shameless to admit that it was because I wanted to save you for myself. Henry does not love me as you led me to believe you loved me. I never loved Henry as I loved you, as I do love you even now, God forgive me.” Francis was swept beyond himself. He caught her and pressed her to him in a crushing embrace. “And on your very wedding day,” she gasped reproachfully in the midmost of his embrace. His arm died away from about her. “And this from you, Leoncia, at such a moment,” he murmured sadly. “And why not?” she flared. “You loved me. You gave me to understand, beyond all chance of misunderstanding, that you loved me; yet here, to-day, you went out of your way, went eagerly and gladly, and married yourself to the first woman with a white skin who presented herself.” “You are jealous,” he charged, and knew a heart-throb of joy as she nodded. “And I grant you are jealous; but at the same time, exercising the woman’s prerogative of lying, you are lying now. What I did, was not done eagerly nor gladly. I did it for your sake and my sake——or for Henry’s sake, rather. Thank God, I have a man’s honor still left to me!” “Man’s honour does not always satisfy woman,” she replied. “Would you prefer me dishonorable?” he was swift on the uptake. “I am only a woman who loves,” she pleaded. “You are a stinging, female wasp,” he raged, “and you are not fair.” “Is any woman fair when she loves?” she made the great confession and acknowledgment. “Men may succeed in living in their heads of honor; but know, and as a humble woman I humbly state my womanhood, that woman lives only in her heart of love.” “Perhaps you are right. Honor, like arithmetic, can be reasoned and calculated. Which leaves a woman no morality, but only ...” “Only moods,” Leoncia completed abjectly for him. Calls from Henry and the Queen put an end to the conversation, for Leoncia and Francis quickly joined the others in gazing at the great web. “Did you ever see so monstrous a web!” Leoncia exclaimed. “I’d like to see the monster that made it,” said Henry. “And I’d rather see than be it,” Francis paraphrased from the “Purple Cow.” “It is our good fortune that we do not have to go that way,” the Queen said. All looked inquiry at her, and she pointed down to the stream.