John was poor and struggling and lived in a shabby little house. Had she known it, the fact would have made him all the dearer. But why had he given her to believe that he lived in fantastic luxury? Why had he lied? Why had he not told her of Unity--Unity who was so interwoven in his life, Unity who looked after his very clothes? A sudden thought smote her, and a scalding wave of shame lapped her from head to foot. She had proposed to buy his ties. She hated herself for the proposal, and she hated herself for starting on this lamentable adventure of indiscretion. She became aware that the new, frightening pain that had crept round her heart was jealousy, and she hated herself for the ignoble passion. She felt it like a stain upon her. A slight smirch upon a gown of gray (such as most of us wear) escapes notice; but on a robe of white it stands out in hideous accusation. The butterfly that had left the hotel so gaily returned with sorry wings from which the gossamer had been rubbed. She crept into her bedroom, where Lady Blount, coming in a while later, found her lying somewhat feverish on the bed. At the sight of her aunt, she sprang up to make instant and spirited confession. “Do you know what I 've done this morning? I thought I would give John a surprise and I took the car to Kilburn. He was not at home, but I saw the girl Unity, his ward.” Lady Blount looked at her in terrible dismay. “My darling, you ought n't to have done it.” “I know, Auntie. And when you see John, will you tell him how sorry I am, and give him my apologies.” “Apologies?” “Yes. It was ill-breeding on my part. He has a perfect right to keep his home affairs to himself, and I should not have intruded. You must apologize for me.” It was a very proud and dignified Stella that spoke, a spot of red burning on each cheek, and her slim figure held very erect. “I hope, my darling,” said Lady Blount, longing to ask a more direct question--“I hope that girl was n't rude to you.” “Unity rude?” Stella knitted her brow. The idea was ludicrous. “On the contrary, like the rest of you, she is far too fond of me. I don't know why; it 's very odd. And she is devoted body and soul to John. She has a fine, great, generous nature.” The stain of jealousy should be wiped away, if she could possibly manage it. “I believe she is a very good girl, though I have n't seen her--” “Since she stayed at Southcliff?” said Stella with steady eyes. “I--I was just going to say so,” Lady Blount stammered. The situation was perplexing. “And John does n't often speak of her.” She made rather a failure of a smile. “And what did the two of you talk about?” The bitter knowledge of good and evil was coming fast to Stellamaris. A little while ago her innocence would have taken the question at its face-value; now, perhaps for the first time in her life to suspect disingenuousness, she penetrated to the poor little diplomacy lying beneath.