‘I was not innocent,’ returned Madeline, sadly. ‘I was to blame, and ah! I was so ungrateful. If I had been innocent, do you think I should ever have placed myself in that man’s power?’ ‘You were very young, and it is an evil world. Do not speak of it again. Bury the past, and become my honoured wife.’ ‘You say that now; but some day, years hence, perhaps, the past would rise like a ghost, and your life would be darkened by regret and shame.’ ‘Never by shame! never!’ ‘I am not fit to make connections, I am not fit to have friends; it is better for such women as I to be alone in the world, and then, if shame comes, it falls only on the one who has the most right to suffer. It is this thought that reconciles me to the death of my dear guardian. I am alone in the world now, and can bring harm to no one.’ To a man like Forster it was terrible to hear her talk so. He was willing to forget the past, and he saw no dark cloud looming in the future. He had set his heart on making Madeline his wife, and he would never rest until his object had been attained. ‘She hesitates to take the plunge,’ he said to himself, ‘but once she has taken it all will be well.’ So he pleaded and pleaded, until at length Madeline was brought to consent. ***** It was a short honeymoon, but to Madeline, at least, it was a tolerably happy one. She had refused to take a maid with her, and he had consented to dispense with the services of a valet, so they spent their days in happy unconcern, roaming about among the Swiss mountains, travelling from one picturesque village to another, and living in little quaint rustic inns, whose primitive accommodation would have made Miss Forster turn cold with dismay. It was just the kind of life which Madeline loved. After all, the unnatural atmosphere of town smoke and footlights had not left much taint upon her; she felt once more the little girl who, with tangled hair and disordered dress, had raced like a young untrained colt about the marshes of Grayfleet. But the pleasures of the honeymoon were not destined to continue. Forster, though a rich man, could never be spared long from the office--so at the end of a month he told his young wife that the two must turn their faces towards home. ‘That’s the penalty of marrying a City man,’ he said; ‘things always seem to go wrong when I’m away; and though I grumble about the office a good deal, I think, after all, I like it.’ ‘I’m sure you do.’ ‘I shall have to leave you a good deal alone, my darling.’ ‘Never mind that. While you are away I’ll be thinking what I can do to make you comfortable when you come home again.’ ‘You’ll do no such thing, my dear. I’ll not have my Madeline made a drudge. You’ll enjoy yourself as you do now, and my sister is quite willing to look after things a bit. She’s used to it, and doesn’t mind.’ ‘Miss Forster?’ ‘Yes, Margaret.’ ‘Is she going to live with us?’