"I am Mrs. Frank Harvey, John--I'm married." And to make her words clear, she held out her hand, with its ringed finger. Even then he just looked at her, and she saw that his eyes were those of a troubled child. "Muriel--you can't mean it!--how can you be married!" he cried, in a low voice. This time she could not look at him, she did not want to see the agony that was coming. "I cannot ask you to forgive me, John--I know that, and if you think hardly, perhaps I deserve it--but oh, I don't want to hurt you--I don't, John, I--" He had risen now and had gone over to the window, his face turned from her, looking down into the well of the building. What was he thinking? "It's incredible!" he said huskily, after a pause. "You cannot make a fool of me like this, Muriel, you can't--why, it's impossible!" he burst out, turning and spreading his hands wide; and then seeing her face clearly for the first time, he knew it was true. She was talking now--words, words, words. What could a woman say worth listening to by a man thrown on one side like a discarded doll; and he knew it all. Of course she had met him in hospital, there was no need to narrate all that. He had appealed to her sympathies. But he blamed her, not the man, who only pressed his opportunity. He assumed a calm attitude until she had finished, as though he had not really heard, for he was busy putting on a mask, determined she should not see how cruelly hurt he was. Once out of the room, he could face the thing squarely, but here, she must not see. "Of course it has all been very silly--our boy and girl romance," he said, as lightly as he could, and he found a slight pleasure in noticing he had hurt her, for she paled as she stood up. "Silly?--you cannot think it was that, John--" she pleaded, and his heart smote him, but pride insisted on the mask. He held out his hand formally. "Good-bye, Muriel." Would he go like this, she thought, so blind to her terrible trial? A noise behind made him turn. A key was being fitted in the lock. She saw his face set, and its sudden tension told her more than his voice or words had betrayed. There was the sound of voices. One he knew well, would have rejoiced at on any other occasion but this,--it was Vernley's. And the other? John's eyes met Muriel's and they felt their hearts throbbing in that long moment. The door swung open and Vernley entered, following a young man, an officer, fresh-complexioned and of medium height and build. "John!" cried Vernley, holding out an eager hand, but John was looking at him. "Frank," said Muriel quietly, "this--" The man interrupted her eagerly. "Muriel--I'm getting on fine. I've put the key in myself. Don't move, I know where you are, watch me! There's a window on the right, the lounge on the left wall, you're standing by it--and a chair here!" he cried, touching it lightly with his fingers as he walked forward. "Frank--this is my friend--Mr. Dean," she said.