It seemed then that this question which merely concerned the welfare of a hundred million people or so and pain, destruction and disaster beyond measure, was the most trivial of digressions. "No," I said. "I haven't thought about the war." "But I thought--you were thinking of nothing else." "This has put it out of my head. It's something---- Something disastrous to us." "Something has happened to our money?" "I wish that was all." "Then what is it?" Her mind flashed out. "It has something to do with Mary Justin." "How did you know that?" "I guessed." "Well. It is. You see--in Switzerland we met." "You _met_!" "By accident. She had been staying at the hotel on Engstlen Alp." "You slept there!" cried Rachel. "I didn't know she was in the hotel until the next day." "And then you came away!" "That day." "But you talked together?" "Yes." "And for some reason---- You never told me, Stephen! You never told me. And you met. But---- Why is this, disaster?" "Because Justin knows and he means to divorce her--and it may be he will succeed...." Rachel's face had become white, for some time she said nothing. Then slowly, "And if he had not known and done that--I should never have known." I had no answer to make to that. It was true. Rachel's face was very still, and her eyes stared at the situation laid bare to her. "When you began," she choked presently, "when she wrote--I knew--I felt----" She ceased for fear she might weep, and for a time we walked in silence. "I suppose," she said desperately at last, "he will get his divorce." "I am afraid he will." "There's no evidence--you didn't...." "No." "And I never dreamt----!" Then her passion tore at her. "Stephen my dear," she wept, "you didn't? you didn't? Stephen, indeed you didn't, did you? You kept faith with me as a husband should. It was an accident--a real accident--and there was no planning for you to meet together. It was as you say? I've never doubted your word ever--I've never doubted you." Well, at any rate I could answer that plainly, and I did.