"Put it that way, if you like," she answered, quietly. "Though it wasn’t from quite such baldly selfish motives that I refused to go with him. I tried, Hugh, to argue the thing out as best I could; I tried to be fair to him and to you. I realized that I might be wrong—that I didn’t really love him——" the man by the fireplace made a quick, convulsive movement, "and anyway I realized that I must give you a chance if you want to have it. If, after what I’ve told you, you decide to let me go—well and good; we can arrange details easily. If, on the other hand, you refuse, and in the course of a month, say, I find that I was not mistaken, and that I’m fonder of Jimmy than I am of you, well, I shall have to take the law into my own hands." Hugh Massingham laughed shortly. "I see," he answered. "You have put things very clearly." He turned on her with an expressionless face. "I take it, then, that as matters stand at present, I am on trial." "If you wish," she said. "I realize that you have a perfect right to refuse that trial, and tell me to go; but, after all your goodness to me, I could not do less than offer it to you." "Your generosity touches me," he remarked, grimly. "And——" It was at that moment that the servant opened the door and announced: "Mr. Staunton." "Are you coming to Hector’s, Delia?" An immaculately clad young man entered, with his evening overcoat on his arm and a top-hat in his hand, to stop in momentary confusion on seeing Hugh. "I beg your pardon," he muttered. "I—er——" "This is my husband, Jimmy," said Delia, composedly, and the two men bowed. "My wife was just talking about you, Mr. Staunton," said Hugh, impassively, while he took in every detail of the other’s face—the mouth, well-formed, but inclined to weakness; the eyes that failed to meet his own; the hands, beautifully manicured, which twitched uneasily as they played with his white scarf. Good God! This effeminate clothes-peg! To be on trial against—this! He stifled a contemptuous laugh; there was Delia to be considered. "Pray don’t let me detain you from Hector’s; though I’m not quite certain what it is." "A night-club, Mr. Massingham," said the other, nervously. "But perhaps Mrs. Massingham would prefer not to go this evening?" "I am convinced my wife would prefer nothing of the sort," returned Hugh, and for a moment his eyes and Delia’s met. Then with a faint shrug she stood up. "Four years in Mesopotamia do not improve one’s dancing." He strolled to the door. "I shall wander round to the club, my dear," he murmured. "And, by the way, with regard to your offer, I accept it." "Good Lord, darling!" whispered Staunton, as the door closed. "I’d got no idea he’d come back. What an awful break!" But she was staring at the door, and seemed not to hear his remark. It was only as he kissed her that she came back to the reality of his presence. "Let’s go and dance, Jimmy," she said, feverishly. "I feel like dancing—to-night."