'Bertie, for many months you saw me almost daily, and guessed nothing. Of all the men I have known--I have known several--I loved one. You. That was why I always refused you. It was my one decent impulse. It was not easy for me. Nor was it easy for me to see you marry Amelie. But I loved you, and liked her. And in a very dim and vague sort of way I realized that there was such a thing as keeping good, as being clean. Even I realized that. So I kept you by me as long as I could, because your passion for me made you lead a proper life. You did not know that other women even existed while you could see me. Then you wrote that letter, and I knew that I could resist no longer if I continued to see you. So I sent you away. I have done a good many horrible things in my life, but I have done just that one decent one. One thing more. You have never known me do a mean thing. I wonder you dared think it was I who blackmailed you. Now, that is absolutely all. I have no other word to say about myself.' 'I have one,' he said. 'Can you forgive me?' 'I have no idea,' she answered. She got up and walked once or twice up and down the room, he sitting where he was, not looking at her, but hearing only the _frou-frou_ of her dress. Then he heard the sprit of a lighted match, and a moment afterwards she blew a great cloud of smoke into his face. 'You disgusting, horrible pig!' she said. 'My fingers simply tingle to box your ears. Now, what is to be done? It is perfectly clear who blackmailed you, and if you like you can have him in the hollow of your hand.' 'Bilton,' said Bertie. 'Of course. He really is rather a charming character. He had a grudge against me, because I told Sybil Brancepeth of--of past events. He has made a good attempt to pay it off. Now, what will you do? Personally, I should like you to prosecute him, and I will come to the trial. You could get him years and years for that. But you must not do it except with your wife's permission. England is the home of linen-washing in public; it is the one industry that remains to us. But you must ask her first. Tell me, what terms are you on?' 'Polite speaking terms.' Dorothy laughed. 'What fools husbands and wives are!' she remarked. 'Why don't you have it out with her? Why don't you explode, boil over, beat her, or something? It is partly my fault, too. I saw she thought there was more to be told, and I did not trouble to convince her, for she did behave so primly. Nose in the air, as if I was a bad smell.' She paused a moment. 'Go to her now at once,' she said, 'before you have time to think it over. Show her the letter; tell her the whole story. Off with you. Ah! wait a minute.' She left the room quickly, and came back again with the dressing-bag in her hand. 'Will you take it now?' she said, with her enchanting smile. He could not speak; there was a pathos about her gaiety that gripped his throat. 'All happiness to you and her, dear Bertie,' she said. 'Now go away.'