The girl turned with a quick lifting of her head. Alice knew that if ever she were to speak, it must be now. Never again could she hope for such an opportunity as this. Suddenly throwing circumspect caution quite aside, she determined that she would speak. Springing to her feet she crossed the room and seated herself in Billy's chair at the chess-table. “Me! Offend me!” she exclaimed, in a low voice. “As if I were the one you were offending!” “Why, _Alice!_” murmured the man, in obvious stupefaction. Alice raised her hand, palm outward. “Now don't, _please_ don't pretend you don't know,” she begged, almost piteously. “Please don't add that to all the rest. Oh, I understand, of course, it's none of my affairs, and I wasn't going to speak,” she choked; “but, to-day, when you gave me this chance, I had to. At first I couldn't believe it,” she plunged on, plainly hurrying against Billy's return. “After all you'd told me of how you meant to fight it--your tiger skin. And I thought it merely _happened_ that you were here alone with her those days I came. Then, when I found out they were _always_ the days Mr. Henshaw was away at the doctor's, I had to believe.” She stopped for breath. Arkwright, who, up to this moment had shown that he was completely mystified as to what she was talking about, suddenly flushed a painful red. He was obviously about to speak, but she prevented him with a quick gesture. “There's a little more I've got to say, please. As if it weren't bad enough to do what you're doing _at all_, but you must needs take it at such a time as this when--when her husband _isn't_ doing just what he ought to do, and we all know it--it's so unfair to take her now, and try to--to win--And you aren't even fair with him,” she protested tremulously. “You pretend to be his friend. You go with him everywhere. It's just as if you were _helping_ to--to pull him down. You're one with the whole bunch.” (The blood suddenly receded from Arkwright's face, leaving it very white; but if Alice saw it, she paid no heed.) “Everybody says you are. Then to come here like this, on the sly, when you know he can't be here, I--Oh, can't you see what you're doing?” There was a moment's pause, then Arkwright spoke. A deep pain looked from his eyes. He was still very pale, and his mouth had settled into sad lines. “I think, perhaps, it may be just as well if I tell you what I _am_ doing--or, rather, trying to do,” he said quietly. Then he told her. “And so you see,” he added, when he had finished the tale, “I haven't really accomplished much, after all, and it seems the little I have accomplished has only led to my being misjudged by you, my best friend.” Alice gave a sobbing cry. Her face was scarlet. Horror, shame, and relief struggled for mastery in her countenance.