She was conscious of Maurice’s persistent gaze, and smiled at him, pointing toward the horizon with a comprehensive gesture that seemed to gather it all in at once. “It’s lovelier even than in those first days.” He could not help translating his recent thoughts for her. “You, too, are more beautiful, Edith.” The unlooked-for compliment took her by surprise. “Really?” “Yes, I mean it. Do you see those trees? They are more graceful, as if they had thrown off some useless weight. You can see farther through their branches. In the same way I can see deeper into your eyes.” “As deep as my heart?” “Into your heart.” She smiled, thinking how much a young man has yet to learn of a woman’s heart. And doubting her power no longer, she judged the moment favourable to begin, herself, the explanations that had been so long postponed. Her idea was to cast aside all falsehood, and bind her lover to herself irrevocably by making him accept a complicity that he could not disavow at so late a day. Such an acceptance of a share of guilt with her would be the greatest proof of tenderness that he could give her. She would have given it to him, herself, without hesitating, were the case reversed. But with men, one could never tell till the very end, so strange is their idea of honour. Herself she had not had a single doubt as to her right to take away the amount of the settlement Mr. Frasne had made her of his own accord. What sort of gift was it that the giver could keep hold of? She thrust aside even her scruples as to the manner in which she had gone about the business. What did the way of it signify to her? Women only half understand any questions of self-interest that bother them. It had been explained to her that this money belonged to her, and this explanation sufficed her. Even if she had robbed her husband she would have felt no remorse, because she hated him. But in good faith she did not believe she had despoiled him. She had only taken what was strictly due her, and had only to have opened her hands to take more. _She_ had given him her youth and beauty. She had paid with her life, and tears. Could she be paid back for her nine years of repugnances overcome, her nine years of accumulated distaste? Nevertheless, at the moment of revealing all to Maurice, she hesitated. With her most coaxing voice she began: “Happiness improves one’s looks, then? Since my childhood this has been my first year of happiness. Oh, if you knew my past!” “I have often asked you, Edith. Tell me about it now. Let me have the story. Neither you nor I must keep any more secrets from each other.”