"He--the real Major Carew--came over to a tennis party at Mrs Fanshawe's yesterday. I thought, of course, that it was another man of the same name, but he said--he said there was no other in that regiment, and he asked me to tell him some more, and I did, and everything I said amazed him more and more, for it was true about _himself_! Then he asked me to describe--the man, and he made an excuse to send his servant over in the evening so that I should see him. He came. Oh, Cecil! He saw me, and he--ran away! He had not returned this morning. He has _deserted_!" Still silence. It seemed to Claire of most pitiful import that Cecil made no disclaimer, that at the word of a stranger she accepted her lover's guilt. What a light on the past was cast by that stoney silence, unbroken by a solitary protest. Poor Mary Rhodes had known no doubts as to the man's identity, she had given him affection and help, but respect and trust could never have entered into the contract! Claire had said her say: she leant her elbows on the table, and buried her head in her hands. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily for an endless five minutes. Then Cecil spoke:-- "I suppose," she said harshly, "you expect me to be grateful for this!" The sound of her voice was like a blow. Claire looked up, startled, protesting. "Oh, Cecil, surely you would rather know?" "Should I?" Cecil asked slowly. "Should I?" She turned back to the tireless grate, and her thoughts sped... With her eyes opened she would not, of course, consent to marry this man who had so meanly abused her trust, but--suppose she had not known! Suppose in ignorance the marriage had taken place? If he had been loving, if he had been kind, would she in after days have regretted the step? At the bottom of her weary woman's heart, Cecil answered that she would _not_. The fraud was unpardonable, yet she could have pardoned it, if it had been done for love of herself. No stately Surrey mansion would have been her home, but a cottage of three or four rooms, but it would have been her _own_ cottage, her _own_ home. She would have felt pride in keeping it clean and bright. There would have been some one to work for: some one to care: some one to whom she _mattered_. And suddenly there came the thought of another joy that might have been; she held to her breast a child that was no paid charge, but her very own, bone of her bone, flesh of her flesh...