She looked at him puzzled by his reticence. He was certainly not himself. His face was bloodless, and for the first time she noticed round his eyes the dark rings caused by the insomnia of the past two nights. "Tell me, Dudley," she implored, clinging to him in dismay. "Can't you see this coldness of yours is driving me to despair--killing me? Tell me the truth. What is it that troubles you?" "I regret, Claudia, that I cannot tell you." "But you always used to trust me. You have never had secrets from me." "No, only this one," he answered in a dull, monotonous manner. "And is it this secret which prevents you from making the compact I have just suggested?" "Yes." "It has nothing to do with any woman who has come into your life?" she demanded eagerly. "No." "Will you swear that?" "I swear it." "You only tell me that we cannot marry, that is all? Can I have no further explanation?" "No, none." "Your decision is not owing to the scandal which you say is talked everywhere? You give your word of honour that it is not?" "Yes, I give my word of honour," he answered. "My inability to renew my offer of marriage is owing to a circumstance which I am powerless to control." "And you refuse to tell me its nature?" "I regret, Claudia, that I must refuse," he said, pressing her hand. His lips twitched, and she saw that tears stood in his eyes. She knew that the man who had been her lover in the days of her girlhood spoke the truth when he added, "This circumstance must remain my own secret." CHAPTER ELEVEN. DISCLOSES AN UGLY TRUTH. With hands interlocked they stood together in silence for some minutes. Neither spoke. Their hearts were full to overflowing. This woman, whose remarkable beauty had made it possible for her to ride rough-shod over discretion, was in those moments of silence seized by remorse. She saw that he was suffering, and with a woman's quick sympathy strove to alleviate his distress. In a manner that was neither hysterical nor theatrical, she carried his hand to her soft lips. Then, with a sudden burst of affection, she raised her beautiful face to his, saying: "All the hard words you have spoken, Dudley, belong entirely to the past. I only know that I love you." He looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, then said: "No, Claudia. Our love must end. It is not fair to you that it should continue." "You desire that it should end?" she asked in a strained voice. "No. I am bound to leave you by force of circumstances," he replied. "We can never marry--never." "But why? I really can't understand you. Of late you have been so strange, so pre-occupied, and so unusually solicitous for my good name." "Yes," he admitted, "it must have struck you as strange. But I have been thinking of your future." "Did you never think of it in the past?" "Of the future--when you are alone, I mean," he said gravely. "What? Are you going abroad?" He was silent again, his eyes fixed blankly upon the carpet.