"You mean to say--he knows?" "Yes." "Oh, my God!" Her calmness staggered, and all but collapsed. For the first time her doubts gave way to even bitterer realisation. This confession to Quentin's father, this betrayal of the secret she had spent her health and happiness for four years to keep, made her grasp what an hour ago had seemed beyond the reach even of credulity. "Quentin--why did you tell him?--how could you!--after all we've suffered...." "I--I--I was desperate, Janey, I had to tell some one, and he was so sympathetic--much more than I'd expected." "When did you tell him?" "The night I came back from town." "After the--the rest was settled?" He nodded. "Quentin, have you told _her_?" She was accepting the impossible quite meekly now. "No, no!--I can't tell _her_." She waited a moment for what she thought the inevitable entreaty not to betray him. Thank God!--it did not come. "She would never forgive you," she said slowly. "Young girls don't." "And you, Janey...." She drew back from him. "You can't ask me that now." "Why?" "Well--well, can't you see I hardly realise things as yet. An hour ago I preferred to doubt my own senses rather than doubt you. Now----" "You doubt me." "No, I don't doubt you. I'm convinced--that you're a cad." Her voice, clear at the beginning of the sentence, had sunk almost to a whisper. He shrank back, wincing before her gentleness. She herself wondered how long it would last, this unnatural calm. It came to her quite easily, she did not have to fight for it, and yet the general sensation was of being under an anæsthetic. She only half realised her surroundings, this horrible new earth on which she was wandering homeless; her emotions seemed dull and inadequate to the situation--it would be a relief if she could feel more. Then suddenly feeling came--it came in a tide, a tempest, a whirlwind. It shook her like an earthquake and blasted her like a furnace. She staggered sideways, as a great gloom darkled on her eyes. Then the shadows parted, and she saw Quentin's face, half turned away--pale, fragile, sullen, the face of a boy--of a boy in despair. "Quentin!" she cried. "Oh, my boy--my little boy! You aren't going to behave like a cad." "But I am a cad, my dear Janey." He spoke brutally, in the stress of feeling. "Oh, Quentin!--Quentin!" She was losing not only her calm, but her dignity--yet she did not heed it. She sprang towards him, seized his hands, and gasped her words close to his ear, as unconsciously he turned his head from her. "Quentin, you can't forsake me--not now--not after all I've given you--you can't, you can't! You loved me so much--you love me still. You can't have stopped loving me all of a sudden like this. And if you love me, you can't forsake me. Quentin, I shall die if you forsake me." "Janey--let me explain. I can't explain if you're so frenzied. Oh, Janey, don't faint." She fell back from him suddenly, and he caught her in his arms.