“I am not sure that it was wise,” she said. “In a case like this one can only say nothing—or too much.” “I could bear the latter more easily,” said Tony. “You know what I have done. We must have an understanding now.” His voice was hoarse, but it was even, and Violet Wayne regarded him with dispassionate interest. Tony, it seemed, had risen in his desperation, and his face was, as she had never seen it, set and almost grim. “Then,” she said quietly, “you have no excuse to make—nothing to urge in extenuation?” “No. It is all true. There was only my love for you—and you must feel that a humiliation now.” Violet Wayne made a little gesture of weariness. “Tony,” she said, “I don’t quite catch your meaning, and we must speak plainly to‐night.” “Well,” said the man, in a voice that was curiously expressionless, “you heard Miss Harding’s story. She was very fair—about Lucy Davidson—but you can realize how difficult it is for me to go into that?” A trace of color crept into Violet Wayne’s face, but her eyes were fixed upon her companion as she said slowly, “Still, I think it is necessary.” “Then I gave the girl a brooch—and once or twice talked nonsense with her—but it went no further. I can only give you my word for that—and nobody would blame you if you could not credit it. Her father did not, and I could not let you hear the story he built up.” Violet’s face was faintly flushed with anger now. “That,” she said, “is the one thing I could never forgive you, Tony. I know it is a trifle by comparison, but it hurts the most, and would have killed the confidence that would have drawn us together. You were afraid I would not believe you?” “Yes, I was afraid.” The girl’s anger seemed to melt away, and left her face pale again, while it was with a curious wistfulness she answered him. “I evidently expected too much, but if you had told me I would have believed you had everybody testified your guilt,” she said. “Can’t you understand that love without confidence is a worthless thing—and that had you trusted me I would have borne any suspicion or obloquy with you?” Her voice broke, but there was once more a faintly scornful ring in it when after a few moments’ silence she spoke again. “But you were afraid— afraid to trust me! Oh, it is almost unendurable!” Tony stood still looking at her, with his heart throbbing painfully and vague wonder in his eyes. Then he moved forward with swift impulsiveness as though he would have flung himself upon his knees beside her chair, but she checked him with a gesture. Still, he stooped and laid a quivering hand upon her shoulder. “I might have known,” he said. “If I had had the courage you would have saved me from everything, but is it too late now? I did it because I loved you, Violet—and you will give me the chance to redeem myself. You can’t destroy my last hope by casting me off?”