In disgust with himself, he sprang up and crossed the room to a distant window. It was a lovely prospect that lay before him--the fields, the trees, the close-cut fair-green of the course dotted with the players, all under a lazy afternoon sky--but he did not see it. He saw only the miserable situation into which he had put the woman he loved--and who loved him--and whom he was utterly unable to help save in one way: marriage. And she was married to another! whom she would have none of, but who was determined on a reconciliation. Even if he acknowledged the Criss-Cross affair to Lorraine, it would effect nothing for Stephanie's salvation. Lorraine might be moved to divorce her, and that very circumstance would establish Porshinger's defence and prove Dolittle's nasty story. Guilty of the one, she would be deemed guilty of the other. It was a dark prospect for her. Her rehabilitation, which had appeared so sure, had suddenly been wrapped in blackness---- "Is it so very absorbing--I mean the prospect?" said a low voice behind him. He turned quickly, with something of a start, and met Stephanie's intimate little smile. "I found it so," he replied, taking her hand. She laughed softly--the beautifully modulated laugh that Pendleton loved, and that had rung in his ears for many years. "You were not looking at the prospect, my friend--confess it," she said. "I was not," he admitted. "You were thinking of--me; of the trouble I have been--and am--and always shall be. Were you not, Montague?" "No! I was not. I was trying to think of some way to help you out of your trouble." "And wishing I had never--come back!" "You know better than that!" he smiled. "Because there isn't any way to help me out of the trouble," she went on. "I've got to take my punishment." "You have already taken your punishment," he answered. "That which is in prospect is not due you." "I have incurred it none the less," she said. "It is but the result of what has gone before. If I had not merited _that_ punishment, I would not be threatened now. The one wouldn't have happened--and the other wouldn't matter." "You mean?" "That Porshinger would never have been in a position to take advantage of me--and that _you_----" she broke off with a fascinating smile. "May I supply the rest?" he whispered. "Do you think you can be trusted?" she asked. "I'm afraid I can't be trusted for anything where you are concerned." "Not even to defend?" she smiled.--"I'll trust you, Montague--for anything." "You see how I've betrayed your trust." "Nonsense! we were equally culpable--equally indiscreet. Now we are to be punished equally. You by your conscience, and I openly. Please think no more about it." "If only you were free!" he exclaimed.