Lady Gwendolyn had turned very pale, but her pride sustained her still, for the stately head never lowered itself one inch, and her full under lip curled in a disdainful smile. “You must have seen some strange things last night to change your intentions and feelings so suddenly, Colonel Dacre.” He was silent. Her calm effrontery was so startling that it seemed almost as easy at the moment to doubt his own eyes as to doubt her. But then she was only a fine actress, of course. She was so greedy of power that she could not bear to lose a single worshiper, and would have kept him at any cost if he showed that he was weak enough to give her his heart to toy with and break. “The things that I saw last night were not strange,” he said hoarsely. “I dare say they would have seemed natural enough to any other looker-on, but, as I told you before, I am a miserable stupid; I believed in all women, and you above the rest; and now----” “And now?” she echoed softly as he paused. “And now I believe in none; and in you, least of all.” “You are more candid than complimentary, Colonel Dacre.” “Perhaps--I cannot flatter.” “It would be almost better if you tried to acquire the accomplishment,” she returned haughtily. “People who pride themselves upon being frank are exceedingly bad company.” “At any rate, I sha’n’t be in your way long, Lady Gwendolyn. I leave Turoy in a couple of hours.” “For Borton Hall?” And if he had been a coxcomb he would have detected the ring of suppressed eagerness in her voice. “For a couple of days only. I am going abroad, and shall not probably return for three or four years--if then; so that I have a few arrangements to make with my steward. I shall let the Hall, if I can get a good tenant.” “You cannot do better,” she said, with sudden, almost stern decision. “You have no right to live there, as it were, under false pretenses.” “I really don’t understand you, Lady Gwendolyn, and must beg you will explain.” “I did not understand you just now, Colonel Dacre; but I did not demand an explanation.” “You had a perfect right to do so.” “Possibly; but it is not my habit. If people take a pleasure in misjudging me----” “A pleasure?” he interrupted vehemently. “Oh! if you only knew what it cost me last night to believe what I saw.” “Then why did you believe it?” “I could not help myself.” “I make it a point of never believing anything I don’t wish to believe,” she said slowly and determinedly. “After all, it is so easy to make mistakes----” “Under some circumstances. But if you actually see a person----” “Then, of course, you cannot make a mistake. But people sometimes fancy they see things, you know. To be absolutely certain myself I should require to look into another’s face--so close that I could not be wrong, otherwise I would not allow myself to condemn even my greatest enemy. I have a great many faults, I know, but I always strive to be just.” “And yet, you condemned me unheard, Lady Gwendolyn.”