I noticed that she was unusually pale, whether on account of the heat, or from mental agitation, I could not determine. The day had been a blazing one--so hot, indeed, that no one had been out before tea. At that moment every one had gone forth except ourselves, and, as she sat in a cane rocking-chair, swinging herself lazily to and fro, she looked little more than a girl, her cream serge tennis-dress imparting to her quite a juvenile appearance. "I hope you are not bored here, Doctor," she said presently, after we had been talking for some time. "Bored?" I laughed. "Why, one has not a moment in which to be bored. This is the first half-hour of repose I've had since I arrived here." She looked at me strangely, and, with a curious smile, said-- "Because you are always so taken up with Beryl." "With Beryl!" I echoed, starting quickly. "I really did not know that--" I hastened to protest. "Ah, no," she laughed, "To excuse yourself is useless. The truth is quite patent to me if not to the others." "The truth of what?" I inquired, with affected ignorance. "The truth that you love her." I laughed aloud, scouting the idea. I did not intend to show my hand, for I was never certain of her tactics. "My dear Doctor," she said presently, "you may deny it, if you like, but I have my eyes open, and I know that in your heart you love her." "Then you know my feelings better than myself," I responded, inwardly angry that I should have acted in such a manner as to cause her to notice my infatuation. "One's actions often betray one's heart. Yours have done," she replied. "But I would warn you that love with Beryl is a dangerous game." "Dangerous! I don't understand you." "I mean that you must not love her. It is impossible." "Why impossible?" "For one simple and very good reason," she responded. Then, looking straight in my face, she added, "Could you, Doctor, keep a secret if I told you one?" "I think I could. It would not be the first one I've kept." "Well, it is for the sake of your own happiness that I tell you this," she said. "You will promise never to breathe a word to her if I tell you." "I promise, of course." She hesitated, with her dark eyes fixed upon mine. Then she said, in a low voice-- "Beryl is already married." "To whom?" I asked, so calmly that I think I surprised her. "To whom I cannot tell you." "Why not? Surely it is no secret." "Yes, it is a secret. That is why I dare not tell you her husband's name." "Is she actually the wife of young Chetwode?" "Certainly not." "But she is engaged to him," I observed. "She is believed to be," my hostess announced, "but such is not really the case." "And her husband? Where is he?" It was strange that I should be asking such a question about my own whereabouts. "In London, I think." "Then he is quite content that his wife should pose as the affianced bride of young Chetwode? Such an arrangement is certainly rather strange."