"Our love!" I echoed contemptuously. Notwithstanding the fierceness of my anger, I smoothed her dark gold hair, and presently, when she grew a trifle calmer, endeavoured to discover the meaning of her strange, enigmatical words. "You cannot know--you will never know--how dearly I have loved you, Geoffrey," she cried, in answer to my eager questions. "Neither will you ever know how much I have suffered, how hard I have striven for your sake." "For my sake! Yet you admit having allowed Dudley Ogle to utter words that I alone had a right to utter!" "Yes, I admit all," she said, with a tragic touch of sorrow in her strained voice. "I deny nothing." "And you come to me asking forgiveness, believing that I can again trust you without hearing any explanation of your recent strange conduct with Beck, as well as with Dudley! I think you must regard me, Ella, as a weak, impressionable fool," I added, with bitter sarcasm. "No, I do not," she cried quickly. "I appeal to your generosity towards a woman. I have been compelled to act against my own inclinations, compelled, in order to outwit my enemies, to act a part despicable and revolting. I can now only ask forgiveness," and, throwing herself suddenly upon her knees before me, she cried, "See! Geoffrey, I crave one grain of pity from you, my old friend, the only man I have loved!" "No, Ella," I answered, quickly withdrawing my hand that she was pressing to her hot, fevered lips. "I may pity you, but forgive you never." "Never!" she gasped, clasping her breast with her hands as if to stay the wild beating of her heart, and struggling unevenly to her feet. "Why never?" "Because you have deceived me." "Yes, yes!" she wailed. "I admit it, I admit it all, but I swear my actions were imperative. Ah! alas that you cannot know everything, or you would kiss me as fondly as you used to do. You, Geoffrey, would love me with a love even more tender and passionate than before, if only you were aware of what I have suffered for your sake." I turned from her in disgust. Her tragic attitude filled me with loathing and contempt, for I knew she was lying. "Can you never again trust me?" she asked, in a low, hoarse voice. "Will you never forgive?" "I can have no further confidence in a woman who has practised such artful deception as you have," I answered, turning again towards her, and noticing the look of unutterable sadness in her tearful eyes. "Deception!" she cried, starting. "What do you mean? What have I done?" "You acknowledge having deceived me wilfully with all the deep cunning of an adventuress, yet you refuse me one word of explanation, either in regard to Beck or Dudley?" "There is nothing to explain, as far as Mr Beck is concerned," she answered demurely. "He is an old friend, and your suspicions that there was any love between us are absolutely absurd."