This, certainly, was an odd reason for Van Hupfeldt's tenderness to the miniature, but Violet's heart instantly warmed toward him for his pity of her beloved; and when he replaced the locket round her neck, saying: "So, then, do we understand each other now?" she found it hard to answer: "I'm afraid that I am as far from understanding as ever." "That will come in time, trust me," said he; "but as to that little word 'Yes,' is it to be taken as uttered now?" "No, not now," she said gently, "though do not go away thinking it may never be. Let me be frank, Mr. Van Hupfeldt. You know quite well that I am not at present disposed to worship your sex, and that is really so. Honestly, I don't think that the human species adorns the earth on which it lives, least of all the male part of it. If I wished to marry, I believe I should choose some poor tiller of the fields, who had never seen a city, or heard of the arts of vice. You see, then, that the whole notion of marriage must be sufficiently distasteful to me. I wouldn't and couldn't give myself; but I am quite willing to--to make a bargain." "A bargain?" He started, and his dark eyes stared at her blankly. "Yes, it is better to be candid. When you have cleared my sister's name, or found the child, as you hope to be able to do, then, if you desire me still the same, you will again speak to me. I cannot definitely part from my freedom without a certainty that you will be able to do what you hope; and it is only fair to you to let you know that I should probably consent to give the same promise to any other man who would and could do this much for me." Upon this Van Hupfeldt's brow flushed angrily, and he leaped to his feet, crying: "But that will never be! Clear your sister's name? You still talk like a child--" Now it was Violet's turn to stand up in astonishment, as she saw her castle in the clouds diminishing. She stared in her turn, with open lips, crying: "Do you say this? that it will never be?" "How can you set a man's life on the chance of the realization of such a mere dream?" asked Van Hupfeldt, irritated, saying more than was wise. "A dream?" murmured Violet, as if in a dream herself. "Then, who is it that has sent me this?" Thereupon she drew from her pocket David Harcourt's unsigned note. She held it out to Van Hupfeldt, and he, without touching, leaned over and read it; apparently slowly; more than once, so Violet thought. He stood there looking at the letter an unconscionable time, she holding it out for him to read, while the man's face bled away inwardly, as it were to death, and some power seemed to rivet his eyes, some power stronger than his effort to withdraw them. The thought passing through Van Hupfeldt's soul was this: "Some one knows that she was a 'duly wedded wife.' But who? And how? To him it is somehow 'a pretty certain thing'; and the proofs of it 'may sooner or later be forthcoming'; and then he will give these proofs to Violet."