"I know it for a fact. The question now is--How will Parflete endure such conduct? Her bigamy may have been innocent, or at least, an unavoidable accident. But the afternoon call--well, if he can swallow that, his meekness runs a risk of being called cowardice, and his magnanimity will bear an unpleasant resemblance to dishonour." "Yet surely--surely----" stammered Sara. In a second she grasped the mistake which had been made, and all its possible disastrous consequences to herself. Loss of reputation, the finger of scorn, and for what? Nothing, or at the worst, an indiscretion. Scandal, had there been a romantic cause, and loss of reputation, had there been a great passion to make it more memorable as a sacrifice than a disgrace, would have seemed to her defiant mind something glorious. But here was a mere unbeautiful story--sordid, if misunderstood, and a little silly, if satisfactorily explained. And it could not be satisfactorily explained. Sara knew life too well to encourage herself by supposing that the real truth about her foolish visit to Orange's lodgings could ever be told or believed. Orange himself would never betray her she knew. But what if she had been seen or recognised? The landlord, the men on the staircase--had they followed her home, or been able to pierce through her thick veil? She tried to collect her thoughts, to appear extremely interested--that was all. The effort, however, was beyond her strength. She showed her agitation, and, while it was fortunately attributed by the d'Alchingens to a wrong reason, they were close observers of every change in her face, nor did they miss the notes of alarm and nervousness in her voice. "It will probably mean a divorce, the social ruin of Orange, and the successful _début_ of Madame as a comedian of the first rank," said the Ambassador. "Does Orange know that she was seen that day?" asked Sara. "Not yet. He will know soon enough, never fear." "Are you sure--quite sure that it was Mrs. Parflete?" suggested the Princess. "It must have been she," replied the Prince. "It must have been she," repeated Sara, mechanically. The lie seemed to come before she had time to think of it; it tripped off her tongue as though some will, other than her own, controlled her speech. But now that the untruth was spoken she determined to abide by it, so she repeated:-- "It must have been Mrs. Parflete." "And suppose," said the Princess, "that she is able to prove that she spent the whole of Wednesday with Lady Fitz Rewes? No one could doubt the evidence of Lady Fitz Rewes." D'Alchingen shrugged his shoulders.