"You told Lady Ardingly you wished to see me," he said. "No; I told her I promised to see you." She raised her eyes and looked at him. At that the chain was complete; her whole brain worked again. She felt, and knew what she felt. "I don't know what good purpose is served by my seeing you," she said; "but here we are. Last night you told Mildred you would come back to her, if she would have you. She assented. That is sufficient, is it not? If you like, I will go on." "That is sufficient," said Jack. "She is your mistress, in fact," said Marie. "How long has that gone on?" "About five years," said he. Marie drew a long breath, then got up. "How splendid!" she said. "And after five years you come back to your wife! You said that, too; you said you had attempted a renewal. So you had tired of her, and thought-- Oh, my God!" "Yes, I suppose you may say I had tired of her," said Jack. "That is your point of view. There is another." "And what can that be?" asked Marie. "You may not believe it--but----" "It is true, I may not believe it. What I know is that about a month ago you changed your behaviour to me. You began to pay me little attentions. Once you kissed me; once----" Jack's lips compressed a little. "You may not believe it," he said again, "but what I tell you is true. You may say I tired of her. I say I fell in love--again--with you." Marie sat down again. The passion for analysis, of which Jim Spencer had accused her, was strong in her. She was intensely interested. "Let me understand," she said. "You are originally in love with me; then you fall in love with Mildred; then you fall in love with me again. Is that it? We take turns. Were there others? You have gratified your whims; why may not I gratify my curiosity?" Jack did not reply for a moment. Then, "I never fell in love with her," he said. "But a man is a man." "And a woman only a woman," said Marie. "No, I ought not to have said that. That is not what we are here for. I want to know quite simply what you have got to say for yourself." "This only. Six weeks ago--a short enough time, I grant--I should have come back to you, if you would have had me. You would not. If you had, I should have told you--past history myself. Would that not have made a difference?" "Yes, it would," said she. "What then?" "You are a cold, passionless woman, and will not understand," he said. Then he paused a moment, for a long sigh lay suspended in her breast. "You object to my saying that?" he added. "No; go on," said she. "I should have told you. But you would not. And in an hour of moral weakness I fell. Ah, you do not know what such temptations mean!" he cried. "You have no right to judge." Again Marie got up, and in a sudden restlessness began to pace up and down the room.