"Yes," he said gravely. "Only that, I think. But for that I should have remained in--with Lord Pilgrimstone of course. Perhaps things are better as they are, my dear." Lady Betty sprang from her seat with all her old vivacity. "Well!" she cried, "well, I am sure! Then why, I should like to know, did Mr. Atlay tell me that my letter to the _Times_ had something to do with it!" "Did not say so," quoth Sir Horace. "Absurd!" "Yes, he did," cried Lady Betty, so fiercely that the rash speaker, who had returned to his boots, fairly shook in them. "You were not there! How do you know?" "Don't know," Sir Horace admitted, meekly. "But stay, stay a moment!" Mr. Stafford said, getting in a word with difficulty. It was strange if his wife could talk so calmly of her misdeeds, and before a third party too. "What letter to the _Times_ did Atlay mean?" "My letter about the Women's League," she explained earnestly. "You did not see it? No, I thought not. But Mr. Atlay would have it that you did, and that it had something to do with your going out. Horace told me at the time that I ought not to send it without consulting you. But I did, because you said you could not be bothered with it--I mean you said you were busy, Stafford. And so I thought I would ask if it had done any harm, and Mr. Atlay---- What is the matter?" she cried, breaking off sharply at sight of the change in her husband's face. "Did it do harm?" "No, no," he answered. "Only I never heard of this letter before. What made you write it?" Lady Betty coloured violently, and became on a sudden very shy--like most young authors. "Well," she said, "I wanted to be in the--in the swim with you, don't you know." Mr. Stafford murmured, "Oh!" Thanks to his talk with Atlay he read the secret of that sudden shyness. And confusion poured over him more and more. It caused him to give way to impulse in a manner which a moment's reflection would have led him to avoid. "Then it was not you," he exclaimed unwarily, "who sent Pilgrimstone's terms to the _Times?_" "I?" she exclaimed in an indescribable tone, and with eyes like saucers. "I?" she repeated. "Gad!" cried Sir Horace; and he looked about for a way of escape. "I?" she continued, struggling between wrath and wonder. "I betray you to the _Times!_ And you thought so, Stafford?" There was silence in the room for a long moment during which the cool statesman, the hard man of the world, did not know where to turn his eyes. "There were circumstances--several circumstances," Mr. Stafford muttered at last, "which made--which forced me to think so." "And Mr. Atlay thought so?" she asked. He nodded. "Oh, that tame cat!" she cried, her eyes flashing.