'Is that quite true?' he asked slowly. 'Absolutely true.' She spoke eagerly, defending the truth as she had not been called upon to defend the lie. 'We have had our happy years, David--your years, my dear. You always seemed quite content----' 'Did I?' he said bitterly. 'Ah well, now comes the turn of the other man!' Penelope started back, wounded and ashamed. She put her hand over her eyes. For a moment they both felt an intangible, but none the less reproachful, presence between them. 'I beg your pardon,' he said hurriedly. 'I should not have said that. Forgive me.' 'It was my fault,' she answered coldly. 'I brought it on myself--I know you had great provocation.' There was a painful moment of silence. 'I think I must leave you now,' she said at length, 'I will write to you to-morrow. I do not think our meeting again would be of any use. We should both say'--her voice quivered--'and perhaps do, things we should regret later.' She held out her hand, her head still averted, wishing her anger, her disappointment, with Winfrith to endure. But suddenly he drew her again, this time resisting, into his arms. 'We can't part like this,' he whispered urgently. 'Forgive the brutish thing I said! I promise I will never so offend again--I swear I will respect him--the man you love, I mean.' To keep her another moment in his arms he abased himself yet further. 'You must not be afraid that I shall quarrel with your choice. Surely we can remain friends--he shall have no reason to be jealous of me.' But punishment came swift and sure. Again he felt her shrink from him, again he felt another presence between them, and the jealous devil, so lately laid, once more took possession of his soul. He thrust her away. 'I had better go now,' he said hoarsely. 'It's no use. You were right: we had better not meet again.' And as Penelope, swept with infinite distress, compelled, mastered, by impulses the source of which was wholly hidden from herself, came once more near to him, again took his hand in hers, looked up mutely into his face, he said roughly, 'No, no! keep your kisses for the other man; I will not rob him any more!' and, fumbling for a moment with the key in the lock, was gone. CHAPTER XVI 'For a pinte of honey thou shalt here likely find a gallon of gaul, for a dram of pleasure a pound of pain, for an inch of mirth an ell of mone: as Ivie doth an oke, these miseries encompass our life.' I After her return from Kingpole Farm that night of stress and storm, Penelope felt strangely, terribly forlorn. Those about her seemed changed. She gradually became aware that she was being watched, considered anxiously, by her mother, by Wantley, even by Miss Wake. Cecily alone among them seemed as she had always been, but even she, or so Mrs. Robinson suspected, had gone through some experience which she was keeping secret from the woman who knew herself so well and loyally loved by her.