They were both suffering cruelly--but John was going back to fight. She must have some explanation with him which could make him return to France at peace in a measure. It was cowardly to shirk telling him the truth, and she could not let him go again into danger with this black shadow between them. He looked up at her and rose from his chair. "You play so beautifully," he said hastily. "You take one out of oneself. Now it is late and the day has been long. Let us go to bed, dearest child." Amaryllis stiffened suddenly--the moment that she dreaded had come. "I would rather that you slept in your dressing-room. I have ordered that to be prepared--" He looked at her startled--and then he took her hand. "Amaryllis--tell me everything. Why are you so changed?" "I'm trying not to be, John." "You are trying--that proves that you are, if you must try. Please tell me what this means." She endeavoured to remain calm and not become unhinged. "It was you yourself who altered me. I came to you all loving and human and you froze me. There is nothing to be done." "Yes, there is. You know that I love you." "Perhaps you do, but the family matters more to you than I do, or anything else in the world." "That may have been so once, but not now," his voice throbbed with feeling. "Alas!" was all she answered and looked down. John longed to appeal to her--but he was too honest to seek to soften her through the link of the child. Indeed, the thought of it had grown hateful to him. He only knew that he had played for a stake which now seemed worthless. Amaryllis and her love mattered more than any child. He clenched his hands tightly; the pain of things seemed hard to bear. Why had he not broken the thongs of reserve which held him long days ago and made love to her in words? But that would have been dishonest. He must at least be true; and he realised now that he had starved her--no matter what his motive had been. "Amaryllis, tell me everything, please," and he held out his hands and drew her to the sofa and sat down by her side. She could not control her emotion any longer, and her voice shook as she answered him: "I know that it was not you--but Denzil, John--and the baby is his, not yours." His face altered. He had not been prepared to hear this thing and he was stunned. "Ferdinand is an awful possibility to contemplate there at Ardayre, if you have no son--" She went on, trying to be calm, "but do you not think that you might have told me? Surely a woman has the right to select the father of her child." John could not answer her. He covered his face with his hands.