"She writes under a mistake," pursued Errington, clasping the back of a chair in his strong fingers as though he would crush it to dust. "It is not true what she says. I told her all about it and she believed me. I am going to tell you now, and you will believe me, will you not, Alizon?" "I cannot tell." The words dropped slowly from her mouth, and he flung out his arms towards her with a cry of anguish. "You must believe me--you must, I tell you," he said breathlessly. "It is not true about that woman. I went up to Town with Eustace, and called at her house----" A flush of angry red passed over her face, and she turned on him like a tigress. "You called on her! You called on that woman!" she said in a clear, vibrating voice, tremulous with anger. "The woman about whom I told you--whom I would not receive, and you--you--my husband, dared to put this insult upon me." "Alizon----" "Don't speak further! I have heard enough. That letter is true, and you cannot deny it." "I do deny it," he cried fiercely. "I tell you it is all a mistake. I forgot all about your refusal to receive Mrs. Veilsturm. Had I remembered I would not have gone." "Ah!" she said with ineffable scorn, "if you had remembered. What excuse is that to make? Do my words weigh so lightly with you that you could forget them so easily? It was not for anything that Mrs. Veilsturm had done to me that I declined to receive her. But I heard my father, on his death-bed, speak of her--speak of her as men such as he was speak of such a woman as she is. I told you this, and yet you forget my words and visit her." "As God is my judge, I did forget," he said desperately. "I did not think about it until it was too late." "Ah, you did remember at last." "Yes! only it was too late. I had been to her house and she----" "And she," echoed his wife bitterly. "Oh, I well know what you are going to say. She did her best to captivate you with her vile arts, tried her hardest to win your heart from me----" "But she did not succeed--she did not succeed," he said earnestly. "Do you think I care if she did or if she did not?" replied Lady Errington scornfully. "Do you think I would place myself in rivalry with that woman? No! you have chosen her in preference to me, your lawful wife. Go to her as soon as you like, but don't dare to come near me." "I will come near you," said Guy desperately. "You have no right to judge me like this." "I have the right of a wronged woman." "No, no! I swear you have not. On my soul; on my honour----" "On your honour," she interrupted with a sneer, "the honour of a man who could act as you have done!" "Whose fault is it if I have acted badly?" he cried, rendered desperate by her jeers. "Do you mean to infer it's mine?" said his wife quietly. He gnawed his moustache viciously and did not respond, whereupon she was about to ask the question again, when a knock came to the door and startled them both.