She looked at him for a second, as if she didn't catch what he meant. Then she took up one of James's likenesses. 'Isn't that Leonard?' 'No; it is not.' 'Douglas!--are you seriously saying that to me?' 'I tell you it is not. You are under a complete misapprehension. I am not able, nor, at this moment, am I willing, to tell you what the facts of the case actually are, but I do assure you of this--and I beg you to be so good as to remember that I have never told you a falsehood in my life--that the original of that photograph is not the person you suppose; and that any conclusions you may deduce from the supposition that he is are erroneous.' 'Douglas, in reply, shall I tell you what I think? Not all; for that would be to entirely destroy the whole fabric on which my life has been reared; but in part.' 'Edith, I entreat you to be warned in time; before the mischief's done beyond repair. Whatever you have to say to me say when we're alone.' 'You've not allowed me to say anything even when we've been alone; you've always wished to put a lock upon my lips. And think what you have said to me! No; it will not do. By some process of reasoning which is beyond my comprehension you appear to have made a compromise with your own conscience which will be productive of more evil than that of which you are afraid.' 'Afraid!--I am afraid of nothing.' 'Of nothing? And yet you're afraid that I should speak; and do not dare to speak yourself.' I simply fear your rashness.' Then, indeed, my dear Douglas, you are afraid of nothing; for I'm not of that constitution from which rashness springs. The truth is, you exaggerate. Your life has been so dominated by a single hope that, now a new factor appears, you over-estimate the consequences which may accrue. I have always held it better policy to look the truth straight in the face; and, until now, I have imagined that you thought with me.' 'And you've been right. In this case I tell you again and again, that what you take to be the truth is not the truth.' 'Douglas, all our lives we have known each other, but until now I have not known you to be this man.' What she meant I couldn't say; whatever it was, it made him turn away from her. 'Edith! You're--you're doing me a great injustice.' Her voice faltered when she spoke again. 'Is this--is this to be parting of the ways? Won't you speak, and so save me from shaming you?' 'You'll shame yourself if you will not be advised by me.' 'Then I'll be shamed. For I'm of opinion that to be a party to the concealment of what I deem to be the truth, now that I know it, would be to make my shame much more.' She lifted Jimmy in her arms. 'My little man, it's my sad duty to have to inform you that you're the Most Honourable the Marquis of Twickenham. My Lord Marquis, I salute you.' She kissed him. It was plain that Jimmy had no more notion why she did it, or what was the meaning of her hotch-potch of words, than I had. He wasn't very far from crying.