‘Had that woman been my wife I should have been sorry for her cruel fate; I should have mourned for her honestly, in spite of her degradation. But had she been my wife, she would never have sunk so low. I would have made it the business of my life to have saved her.’ Thus argued the man who had passionately loved the beautiful, soulless woman, and who had never comprehended the emptiness of her mind and heart. Once in the progress of the service John Treverton looked across the aisle, and saw the stern gray eyes watching him. In that one glance Gerard saw that he was recognised. ‘What will he do if we meet presently?’ Gerard asked himself. ‘He’ll cut me dead, no doubt.’ They did meet, for in leaving the church porch Laura stopped to talk to Mrs. Clare and Celia. Edward and his friend were close behind. ‘Is it the man?’ Edward asked, in a whisper. ‘Yes,’ answered Gerard. They went along the churchyard path together, and at the gates there was a pause. Laura wanted the Vicarage party to go to luncheon at the Manor House, but Mrs. Clare declined. Of course the children could do what they liked, she said; as if her children had ever done anything else since they had emerged from the helplessness of infancy. Even in their cradles they had had wills of their own. Celia looked at her brother, and saw by a warning twitch of his eyebrows that she was to say no. ‘I think we had better go home to luncheon,’ she said meekly. ‘Papa likes us to be at home on Sundays.’ Then she gave her brother’s sleeve a little tug. ‘You haven’t introduced Mr. Gerard,’ she whispered. ‘Ah, to be sure. Mr. Gerard, Mrs. Treverton, Mr. Treverton.’ ‘Mr. Gerard and I have met before, under circumstances that made me deeply indebted to him,’ said John Treverton, holding out his hand. Gerard lifted his hat, but appeared not to see the offered hand. This unexpected frankness took him by surprise. He had been prepared for anything rather than for John Treverton’s acknowledgment of their past acquaintance. It was a bold stroke if the man were guilty; but Gerard’s experience had taught him that guilt is generally bold. ‘I should be glad of ten minutes’ talk with you, Mr. Gerard,’ said Treverton. ‘Will you walk my way?’ ‘We’ll all walk as far as the Manor House,’ said Celia. ‘We need not be home till two, need we, mother?’ ‘No, dear, but be sure you are punctual,’ answered the good-natured mother. ‘I shall say good-bye, Laura, my dear.’ While Laura lingered a little to take leave of Mrs. Clare, Treverton and Gerard walked on in front of Celia and her brother, along the frost-bound road, under the leafless elms. ‘The world is much smaller than I took it to be,’ John Treverton began, after a pause, ‘or you and I would hardly meet in such an out-of-the-way corner of it as this.’ Gerard said nothing. ‘Were you not surprised to see me in so altered a position?’ the other asked, after an uncomfortable pause. ‘Yes, I was certainly surprised.’