“You are a woman of common-sense. I leave you to guess. You admit you have n't treated me properly. You have nothing to complain of as far as I am concerned. Now, have you?” “How do I know? No. I suppose not, as things go. Once I did try to--to feel more like other women--and to make some amends. I told you that perhaps we were making a mistake in excluding sentiment. If you had chosen, you could have--I don't know--made me care for you, perhaps. But you didn't choose. You treated me as if I were a fool. Very likely I was.” “When was that?” asked Morland, with a touch of sarcasm. “I certainly don't remember.” “It was the last night we had any talk together--in the billiard-room. The night before--before the garden-party.” He turned away with an involuntary exclamation of anger. He remembered now, tragic events having put the incident out of his mind. He was caught in a trap. “I did n't think you meant it,” he said, hurrying to the base excuse. “Women sometimes consider it their duty to say such things--to act a little comedy, out of kindness. Some fellows expect it. I thought it would be more decent to let you see that I did n't.” There was a short silence. Norma stood in the centre of the room, biting her lip, her head moving slightly from side to side; she was seeking to formulate her thoughts in conventional terms. Her cheek grew a shade paler. “Listen,” she said at length. “I am anything bad you like to call me. But I'm not a woman who cajoles men. And I'm not a liar. I'm far too cynical to lie. Truth is much more deadly. I hate lying. That's the main reason why I broke with a man I cared for more than for any other man I have ever met--because he lied. You know whom I mean.” He faced her with a conscious effort. Even at this moment of strain and anger, Norma was struck again with the lurking air of ignobility on his face; but she only remembered it afterwards. He brazened it out. “Jimmie Padgate, I suppose.” “I can't forgive him for lying.” “I don't see how he lied. He faced the music, at any rate, like a man,” said Morland, compelled by a remnant of common decency to defend Jimmie. “All his pose beforehand was a lie--unless the disclosures afterwards were lies--” “What do you mean?” asked Morland, sharply. “Oh, never mind. We have not met to discuss the matter. I don't know why I referred to it.” She paused for a moment. She had begun her tirade at a white heat. Suddenly she had cooled down, and felt lassitude in mind and limbs. An effort brought her to a lame conclusion. “You accused me of acting a comedy. I was n't acting. I was perfectly sincere. I have been absolutely frank with you from the hour you proposed to me.”