Was Sophie Blake correct in her deduction as to a previous unhappy romance? Claire had no tangible grounds to lead her to a conclusion, but instinct induced her to agree. Something beyond the troubles of her professional life had gone towards warping a nature that was naturally generous and warm. In imagination Claire lived over the pitiful romance. Poor Cecil had been badly treated. Some selfish man had made love to her, amusing his idle hours with the society of a pretty, clever woman; he had never seriously intended marriage, but Cecil had believed in his sincerity, had given him her whole heart, had dreamt dreams which had turned the grey of life to gold. And then had come the end. How had the end come? Some day when they were walking together, had he suddenly announced: "I am sailing to India next month!" or, "We have been such capital friends, you and I. I should like you to be the first to hear my news. I am engaged to be married to the dearest girl in the world!" Then, because convention decrees that when her heart is wounded a woman may make no moan, had Cecil twisted her lips into a smile, and cried, "I am so glad to hear it. I hope you will be very happy," while the solid earth rocked around her? At such thoughts as these Claire flared with righteous anger. "If that should ever happen to me, I wouldn't pretend! I wouldn't spare him. I should look him straight in the face, and say, `And all this time you have been pretending to love me.--I thank God that it _was_ pretence. I thank God that He has preserved me from being the wife of man who could act a double part!'"