"Suppose! Don't you know?" Jim also was on his feet. "Didn't you see her? You don't mean to say that you didn't see her?" "I didn't see her. I left word at the _bureau_ that I was out. I left word that I had gone to Lyons with you." "Good heavens, Muriel! What will they think? What must they be thinking right now? My letters to you went there. I wrote every day. They would know from the arrival of those letters addressed to you from Lyons that you weren't with me." She sank on a chair and began feebly to cry. Jim knelt by her, his annoyance remaining, but his heart touched. "There, there!" he said. "I understand. You wanted to go with me and were afraid to say so. I wish now that you had gone. That doctor is a fool. He must be a fool. And he isn't a pleasant man. I understand, dearie. Don't say any more. I was cruel----" "No, no!" sobbed Muriel. "I was. Yes, I was." "You are the best man in the world, only--only----" "I was the worst, the very worst. If you only had told me how you felt, dearest. If you only hadn't deceived me!" "I had to." "Out of consideration for me." "No." "It was. I understand. You thought the trip alone would do me good, and so you wouldn't say a word to change my plans." He had no thought for anything but contrition now. "And you stuck it out. My poor, brave, lonely darling! To think of me being so callous! How could I? And you in your condition!" She drew from him. "Jim----" she said. "I won't hear you accuse yourself," he protested. "But, Jim----" "Not now. Not ever. Not another word. Never mind the Boussingaults. Boussingault is a physician, after all, and will understand when I tell him." "Don't tell him, Jim." "We'll see; we'll see." "Please don't. I hate him so, I never want to have to think of him again." "Don't you bother, dearie. You are the finest woman that ever lived." "But, Jim, I'm not." She kept her head averted. "I am--I dare say I am as bad----" "Stop," he commanded. "I won't hear it. Not even from you. I will not. Think, dearest: we are foolish to be unhappy. We have every reason in the world to be happy. We are rich. We have no business to bother or interfere with whatever we may want to do. We love each other and soon"--he broke the tacit treaty of silence concerning their child--"in a few months we are to have a little baby to complete everything." "Don't!" said Muriel. But Stainton took her by both hands and raised her and kissed her. "Not this time," he said. "This once I am going to have my way. I am going to make you happy in spite of yourself. We shall never see or hear of Boussingault again if you are only as obedient as you are nearly always. It is still early afternoon. We are going out together and make a tour of the shops." She lifted her face with a troubled smile. "I have everything I want," she said. "Poor dear," said Stainton, "you're pale. I suppose you scarcely dared to go out of doors while I was away. No, come on: we shall go now."