"That she's just as much in love with him as before--the little fool!" "And I suppose he's just as devoted to her as ever--eh?" "Of course. Since you've been away these last few days he's been over here from Connachan, on one pretext or another, every day. Of course I've been compelled to ask him to lunch, for I can't afford to quarrel with his people, although I hate the whole lot of them. His mother gives herself such airs, and his father is the most terrible old bore in the whole country." "But the match would be an advantageous one--wouldn't it?" suggested the man strolling at her side, and he stopped to light a cigarette which he took from a golden case. "Advantageous! Of course it would! But we can't afford to allow it, my dear Jimmy. Think what such an alliance would mean to us!" "To you, you mean." "To you also. An ugly revelation might result, remember. Therefore it must not be allowed. While Walter was abroad all was pretty plain sailing. Lots of the letters she wrote him I secured from the post-box, read them, and afterwards burned them. But now he's back there is a distinct peril. He's a cute young fellow, remember." Flockart smiled. "We must discover a means by which to part them," he said slowly but decisively. "I quite agree with you that to allow the matter to go any further would be to court disaster. We have a good many enemies, you and I, Winnie--many who would only be too pleased and eager to rake up that unfortunate episode. And I, for one, have no desire to figure in a criminal dock." "Nor have I," she declared quickly. "But if I went there you would certainly accompany me," he said, looking straight at her. "What!" she gasped in quick dismay. "You would tell the truth and--and denounce me?" "I would not; but no doubt there are others who would," was his answer. For a few moments her arched brows were knit, and she remained silent. Her reflections were uneasy ones. She and the man at her side, who for years had been her confidant and friend, were both in imminent peril of exposure. Their relations had always been purely platonic; therefore she was not afraid of any allegation against her honour. What her enemies had said were lies--all of them. Her fear lay in quite a different direction. Her poor, blind, helpless husband was in ignorance of that terrible chapter of her own life--a chapter which she had believed to be closed for ever, and yet which was, by means of a chain of unexpected circumstances, in imminent danger of being reopened. "Well," she inquired at last in a blank voice, "and who are those others who, you believe, would be prepared to denounce me?" "Certain persons who envy you your position, and who, perhaps, think that you do not treat poor old Sir Henry quite properly."