"But that is absurd!" exclaims Lady Etwynde indignantly. "He has not a shadow of proof. No judge would listen to such a case. It is only a threat, Lauraine; and that woman has put him up to it." "But in any case the disgrace would be the same," says Lauraine. "I was so blind, so foolish. Every one seems to have noticed Keith's devotion to me, and I--it was so long before I suspected it." "The lookers-on always see most, you know. But still all this proves nothing, and I don't believe your husband would seriously think of dragging his name and yours into one of those courts without a tittle of evidence to support his accusation." "Evidence can be bought," says Lauraine; "and even were it to come to nothing, there is the shame, the scandal. Oh, my poor Keith! It was an evil fate that threw us two together again." For a moment Lady Etwynde is silent. She is deeply troubled. She knows well enough that, be a woman ever so innocent, the breath of public discussion will tarnish her fame for ever, A sense of injustice, of anger, rises in her heart, and fills it with hot, indignant thoughts. "I cannot counsel you to submit," she says. "I do not mean to submit," answers Lauraine tranquilly. "It would look like fear. I must face the worst. For myself, I do not care so much; I have been unhappy so long--but it is of Keith I think." "My dear!" exclaims Lady Etwynde, "spare your pity! A man never suffers in these cases; it is always the woman--always. The more guiltless, the more society will shun her. It is a sort of way it has for condoning its own errors and impurities. It looks well to make a violent outcry when any one has been so foolish as to be found out. As long as you sin in the dark, no one will dream of saying a word, let their suspicions be ever so strong. A woman like you, Lauraine, who has only been imprudent and sorely tempted, and yet dares to be virtuous, will receive no mercy and gain no belief." "I know that," she says, and her indifference is scarcely forced now. She feels too hopeless for strong emotion. "As for Keith," goes on Lady Etwynde impatiently, "it is all owing to his selfishness and----" "Hush!" cries Lauraine sternly. "I will not have him blamed. He has been sorely tried, and many men would have acted far worse. It is on me that all the blame lies--on me only. It all began from the fatal error of my marriage, and I deserve to suffer, I know; only sometimes, Etwynde," she adds wearily, "it does seem as if the suffering was beyond my strength." The tears spring to Lady Etwynde's eyes. "What _will_ you do?" she asks despairingly. "To-morrow I will tell Lady Jean that it is best for her visit to terminate," answers Lauraine. "I do not see why I should condone my own shame. As for the consequences, Sir Francis must do what he pleases. I know I am innocent, even if blameable--the result, time will show."