Seated at a marble table--the place was nearly empty--she furtively watched his face in the glass, and what she saw there thrilled her. Some great sorrow had come to him. And she had been sulking! The girl in the orchard would have known at a glance. _She_ would gently, tenderly, with infinite delicacy and the fine tact of a noble woman, have drawn his secret from him. She would have shared his sorrow, and shown herself "half wife, half angel from heaven" in this dark hour. Well, it was not too late. She could begin now. But how? He had ordered the tea, and her question was still unanswered. Yet she must speak. When she did her words did not fit the mouth of the girl in the orchard--but then it would have been May there, and this was January. She said-- "How frightfully cold it is!" "Yes, isn't it?" he said. The fine tact of a noble woman seemed to have deserted her. She resisted a little impulse to put her hand in his under the marble table, and to say, "What is it, dearest? Tell me all about it. I can't bear to see you looking so miserable," and there was another silence. The waitress brought the two thick cups of tea, and looked at him with a tepid curiosity. As soon as the two were alone again he leaned his elbows on the marble and spoke. "Look here, darling, I've got something to tell you, and I hope to God you'll forgive me and stand by me, and try to understand that I love you just the same, and whatever happens I shall always love you." This preamble sent a shiver of dread down her spine. What had he done--a murder--a bank robbery--married someone else? It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she would stand by him whatever he had done; but if he had married someone else this would be improper, so she only said, "Well?" and she said it coldly. "Well--I went to the Simpsons' dance on Tuesday--oh, why weren't you there, Ethel?--and there was a girl in pink, and I danced three or four times with her--she was rather like you, side-face--and then, after supper, in the conservatory, I--I talked nonsense--but only a very little, dear--and she kept looking at me so--as if she expected me to--to--and so I kissed her. And yesterday I had a letter from her, and she seems to expect--to think--and I thought I ought to tell you, darling. Oh, Ethel, do try to forgive me! I haven't answered her letter." "Well?" she said. "That's all," said he, miserably stirring his tea.