"I will not try, I know we must part." "If this is so, we must. A secret between husband and wife is fatal." "It would be, but I admit nothing, we cannot be husband and wife." "Never, Charlotte?" "Never!" she said. Hinton thought for a moment, and then he came up and again took her hand. "Lottie, tell me that secret; trust me; I know there is a secret, tell it to me, all of it, let me decide whether it must part us." "I cannot, my darling--my darling--I can say nothing, explain nothing, except that you and I must part." "If that is so, we must," he said. He was pained, shocked, and angry, beyond words. He left the room and the house without even another look. CHAPTER XLII. "I LOVE HIM," SHE ANSWERED. That evening Charlotte came softly into her father's study and sat down by his side. She had not appeared at dinner-time, sending another excuse. She was not very well, she said; she would see her father later in the evening. But as she could not eat, she did not care to come to dinner. She would like to see her father quite alone afterwards. Charlotte had worded this verbal message with great care, for she wished to prepare her father for something of extra importance. Even with the tenderest watching it was impossible to avoid disturbing him a little, and she wished to prepare him for the very slight but unavoidable shock she must give. Jasper dined at Prince's Gate as usual. But after dinner he went away. And Charlotte, when she knew this, instantly went down to her father. She was now perfectly calm. For the time being had forgotten herself absolutely. Nothing gives outward composure like self-forgetfulness, like putting yourself in your fellow-man's place. Charlotte had done this when she stepped up to her old father's side. She had dressed herself, too, with special thought for him. There was a muslin frock, quite clear and simple, which he had loved. It was a soft Indian fabric, and clung to her fine figure in graceful folds. She had made Ward iron it out, and had put it on. Of late she had considered it too girlish, but to-night she appeared in it knowing it would please the eyes for which it was worn. Mr. Harman was chilly and sat by the fire. As usual the room was softly but abundantly lit by candles. Charlotte loved light, and, as a rule, hated to talk to any one without looking at that person fully. But to-night an opposite motive caused her to put out one by one all the candles. "Does not the room look cosy with only the firelight?" she said. And then she sat down on a low stool at her father's feet. "You are better now, my love. Tell me you are better," he said, taking her hand in his. "I am well enough to sit and talk to you, father," she said. "But what ailed you, Lottie? You could not come to dinner either yesterday or to-day; and I remember you looked ill this morning. What is wrong?"