Her husband shook his head knowingly. “Jehane's too proud for that.” “But he is. They're always sitting over the fire, oh, so closely, and whispering together.” “It can't be. She's amusing herself. If I thought it were, I'd stop it. Ocky may be a bounder, but he wouldn't do that.” “Billy boy, he's doing it.” “But he's hardly got a penny to bless himself, and her little income wouldn't attract him.” “You may say what you like, old obstinate; it doesn't alter facts.” Jehane was proud, as Barrington said; but not too proud. She realized quite well what Waffles was, but she hoped to brace him up with her strength. She was by no means blind to his shortcomings. Often, when the smile was playing about her mouth, her mind was in a ferment of derision. At night remorse pursued her--the fine, clean memory of Bobbie Spashett.--But the constant sight of Nan and Barrington, their stolen kisses and love-words, were getting on her nerves. She looked down the vista of the years--was no man ever to conquer her? Was she to grow into an old woman with that one brief memory of her soldier-man? So love-hunger drew her to Waffles, despite the warnings of her better sense. The love-hunger was continually quickened by the sight of Nan's domestic happiness. When, after a week's acquaintance, he said, “Mrs. Spashett, will you marry me?” she replied, “My brave husband!--I cannot.--I must be true to the end.” When he asked her again two days later, she was less positive. “Oh, Mr. Waffles, there's Glory.” “Call me Ocky,” he said. Then he changed his tactics. He argued his loneliness, their community of grief, the loss of his mother. When he spoke of his mother, she liked him best. “Give me time,” she murmured. The crisis came on the last day of her visit, and was hastened by two foolish happenings. She detested the thought of the return to her parents' silent house. She had persuaded herself that she was not wanted there; her child fidgeted the old people and disarranged the household. After the glimpse of warmth and heaven she had had, she magnified her troubles through the glass of envy. Oh, to have her own fireside, and her own man!--This was how the crisis happened.