She flashed her hand angrily over her eyes, and looked at me. “And I wanted to be loyal to the end. If you had waited and she had waited, you would have seen. As soon as I could have conveyed it to you decently, I should have shown you----Ah!” She broke off, put the Yorkshire terrier on the sofa beside her, and rose with an impatient gesture. “You want to know why I called on Lola Brandt? I felt I had to know for myself what kind of woman she was. She was the woman between us--you and me. You don't suppose I ceased to care for you just because what we thought was a fatal illness broke off our engagement! I did care for you. I cared for you--in a way; I say 'in a way'--I'll tell you why later on. When we met here the last time do you think I was not moved? I knew your altered position would not allow you to suggest a renewal of the engagement so I offered you the opportunity. Do you remember? But I could not tell whether you still cared for me or whether you cared for the other woman. So I had to go and see her. I couldn't bear to think that you might feel in honour bound to take me at my word and be caring all the time for some one else. I went to see her, and then I realised that I didn't count. Don't ask why. Women know these things. And I found that she loved you with a warmth and richness I'm incapable of. I felt I had stepped into something big and splendid, as if I had been a caterpillar walking into the heart of a red rose. I felt prim and small and petty. Until then I had never known what love meant, and I didn't feel it; I couldn't feel it. I couldn't give you a millionth part of what that woman does. And I knew that having lived in that atmosphere, you couldn't possibly be content with me. If you had waited, I should have found some means of telling you so. That's what I meant by saying I was loyal to you. And I thought I had made it clear to her. It seems I didn't. It isn't my fault.” “My dear,” said I, when she had come to the end of this astonishing avowal, and stood looking at me somewhat defiantly and twisting her fingers nervously in front of her, “I don't know what in the world to say to you.” “You can tell me, at least, that my instinct was right.” “Which one? A woman has so many.” “That you love Lola Brandt.” I lifted my arms in a helpless gesture and let them drop to my sides. “One is not one's own master in these things.” “Then you do?” “Yes,” said I in a low voice. Eleanor drew a long breath, turned and sat down again on the sofa. “And she knows it?” “I have told her so.” “Then why in the world has she run away?”