"I did not know it! I trusted you absolutely! I thought that we were all three, friends,--you and I and Godfrey! It was the very first time that Godfrey and I had ever had a friend in common, and it made me so happy." "Did it indeed?" His words cut like a whip. "But it's true that you are Godfrey's friend?" she spoke a little wildly. "I've never known him as fond of any man as he is now of you, Oliver." "His fondness is not returned." "Then it ought to be!" she cried. "For you've made him like you, Oliver." She hardly knew what she was saying, distressed, humiliated, wounded as she was in her pride and sense of personal dignity. But what was he saying--this challenging, wrathful stranger who, but a few moments ago, had been her dear, dear friend? "I would rather, Laura, that you did not bring your husband into this matter." "But I must bring him in!" She became suddenly aware that here ready to her hand was a weapon with which she could hurt and punish this man who was looking at her with so inscrutable a look--was it a look of love or of hatred? "I'm sorry now," she went on rapidly, "bitterly, bitterly sorry and ashamed that I ever said a word to you of Godfrey and his--his rather tiresome ways. I ought not to have done it. It was disloyal. I've never spoken of Godfrey to any other man--but somehow I thought _you_ were different from other men." "Different?" he interjected. "How so, Laura? What right had you to think me different from other men?" "Because I trusted you," she said inconsequently. "Because somehow you seemed really to care for me--" her voice broke, but she forced herself to go on: "You're not the first man, Oliver, who's made love to me since I married--" she covered her face with her hands. It seemed to her that some other woman was being driven to make these intimate confidences--not the fastidious, refined, reserved Laura Pavely, who had an almost morbid dislike of the betrayal of any violent or unseemly emotion. But this other woman, who spoke through her lips, had been, was being, wantonly insulted.... Hanging her head as a child might have done, she said defiantly: "I suppose you're surprised?" "No, I'm not surprised. Why should I be? Go on--" He clenched his hands together. What was it she was going to tell him? Speaking in short, broken sentences, she obeyed him: "It was when we used to go about much more than we do now--in the first two or three years after our marriage. I suppose that every woman--who isn't quite happy with her husband--is exposed to that kind of thing. I used to loathe it when I saw it coming. I used to try and fend it off. Sometimes I succeeded--more often I failed. But I never, never expected anything of the sort to happen with you, Oliver. We were such friends--such good, happy friends--you and I and my little Alice," and then she burst into a passion of weeping.