"Thank you," he said at last, "thank you. And I suppose you offered us money? You told Herbert you would pay all expenses? Oh, don't be angry! I didn't mean anything uncivil. But," he raised himself with energy from his lounging position, "at the same time, perhaps you ought to know that I would sooner die a thousand times over than take a single silver sixpence that belonged to you!" Their eyes met, his quite calm, hers sparkling with resentment and pain. "Of course I can't argue with you if you meet me in that tone," she said passionately. "But I should have thought----" "Besides," he interrupted her, "you say it is the only way. You are quite mistaken. It is not the only way. As far as freeing me goes, you could divorce me to-morrow--here--if you liked. I have been unfaithful to you. A strange way of putting it--at the present moment--between you and me! But that's how it would appear in the English courts. And as to the 'cruelty'--that wouldn't give _you_ any trouble!" Daphne had flushed deeply. It was only by a great effort that she maintained her composure. Her eyes avoided him. "Mrs. Fairmile?" she said in a low voice. He threw back his head with a sound of scorn. "Mrs. Fairmile! You don't mean to tell me, Daphne, to my face, that you ever believed any of the lies--forgive the expression--that you, and your witnesses, and your lawyers told in the States--that you bribed those precious newspapers to tell?" "Of course I believed it!" she said fiercely. "And as for lies, it was you who began them." "You _believed_ that I had betrayed you with Chloe Fairmile?" He raised himself again, fixing his strange deep-set gaze upon her. "I never said----" "No! To that length you didn't quite go. I admit it. You were able to get your way without it." He sank back in his chair again. "No, my remark had nothing to do with Chloe. I have never set eyes on her since I left you at Heston. But--there was a girl, a shop-girl, a poor little thing, rather pretty. I came across her about six months ago--it doesn't matter how. She loves me, she was awfully good to me, a regular little brick. Some day I shall tell Herbert all about her--not yet--though, of course, he suspects. She'd serve your purpose, if you thought it worth while. But you won't----" "You're--living with her--now?" "No. I broke with her a fortnight ago, after I'd seen those doctors. She made me see them, poor little soul. Then I went to say good-bye to her, and she," his voice shook a little, "she took it hard. But it's all right. I'm not going to risk her life, or saddle her with a dying man. She's with her sister. She'll get over it." He turned his head towards the window, his eyes pursued the white sails on the darkening blue outside. "It's been a bad business, but it wasn't altogether my fault. I saved her from someone else, and she saved me, once or twice, from blowing my brains out." "What did the doctors say to you?" asked Daphne, brusquely, after a pause.