This was not true; but it took less time to tell than the truth would have taken, and sounded better. "We were engaged, and I was very fond of him. But he--you know what he is about Women?" "No," said Betty steadily. "I don't want to hear anything about him." "But you must.--He is--I don't know how to put it. There's always some woman besides the One with him. I understand that now; I didn't then. I don't think he can help it. It's his temperament." "I see," said Betty evenly. Her hands and feet were very cold. She was astonished to find how little moved she was in this interview whose end she foresaw so very plainly. "Yes, and there was a girl at that time--he was always about with her. And I made him scenes--always a most stupid thing to do with a man, you know; and at last I said he must give her up, or give me up. And he gave me up. And I was too proud to let him think I cared--and just to show him how little I cared I married Sir Harry St. Craye. I might just as well have let it alone. He never even heard I had been married till last October! And then it was I who told him. My husband was a brute, and I'm thankful to say he didn't live long. You're very much shocked, I'm afraid?" "Not at all," said Betty, who was, rather. "Well, then I met Him again, and we got engaged again, as he told you. And again there was a girl--oh, and another woman besides. But this time I tried to bear it--you know I did try not to be jealous of you." "You had no cause," said Betty. "Well, I thought I had. That hurts just as much. And what's the end of it all--all my patience and trying not to see things, and letting him have his own way? He came to me to-night and begged me to release him from his engagement, because--oh, he was beautifully candid--because he meant to marry you." Betty's heart gave a jump. "He seems to have been very sure of me," she said loftily. "No, no; he's not a hairdresser's apprentice--to tell one woman that he's sure of another. He said: 'I mean to marry Miss Desmond if she'll have me.'" "How kind of him!" "I wish you'd heard the way he spoke of you." "I don't want to hear." "_I_ had to. And I've released him. And now I've come to you. I was proud two years ago. I'm not proud now. I don't care what I do. I'll kneel down at your feet and pray to you as if you were God not to take him away from me. And if you love him it'll all be no good. I know that." "But--supposing I weren't here--do you think you could get him back?"