Beatrix seemed incapable of speech. Clarice answered, coldly: "We have said nothing yet!" Then she continued, gravely: "Miss Vane, are you Mr. Le Roy's wife?" "Yes, I am his wife," Laurel answered, faintly. And she tore her hands from Beatrix, and covered her face with them. No one spoke for a moment, then Clarice asked, slowly: "Did you deceive him to the end?" "To the bitter end!" shuddered Laurel, in a hollow tone. Then suddenly she let the shielding hands fall from her burning face, and looked at Beatrix. "Do not look at me so sternly and coldly, Mrs. Wentworth," she cried. "You sent me there. Are you not to blame?" No one could have believed that Mrs. Wentworth's gentle face could grow so hard and cold. Laurel Vane had so bitterly betrayed the trust she reposed in her that she did not know how to forgive her. "Do not charge me with your folly, your madness!" she cried, indignantly. "My sin was bad enough--but yours is beyond pardon. How dared you, _Laurel Vane_, marry the proud, rich St. Leon Le Roy?" "I loved him--he loved me!" moaned the wretched young bride. "And what will become of his love now when he learns the truth?" queried Beatrix, with stinging scorn. Cyril hastily interposed. "Do not be hard on her, Beatrix. She was kind to us. Be kind to her. See, she is almost heart-broken by your scorn!" Laurel looked at the handsome, kindly face. It was full of sympathy and pity, not hard and angry like the women's faces. Her despairing heart filled with new hope. She clasped her hands, and looked at him with dark, appealing eyes. "Yes, I pitied you, I helped you to your love," she said, pleadingly. "Will you let them rob me of mine? Will you let them betray me?" All the pity in his heart, all his manly compassion was stirred into life by her words and looks. "We love each other," she went on, pathetically. "We love each other even as you and your wife love. Do not come between us yet! Let us be happy a little longer!" "Beatrix, you hear," said Cyril, bending down to take his wife's hand in his own. "They love even as we love, dear. Can you bear to part them--to betray her? She is little more than a child. You will break her heart. The beginning of it all lies with us. Do we not owe her our pity at least--our pity and our silence?" "Your silence--that is all I ask," cried the culprit, eagerly. "The end will come soon enough. Let me have a little respite. Tell me where to find you to-morrow. Mr. Le Roy has an engagement out then, and I will come to you. I will tell you how it all happened! I will beg for your pity on my bended knees!" She began to weep passionately. Beatrix could not bear those bitter tears. She drew out her card-case hastily. "Here is my address," she said. "Come to me to-morrow, and tell me the whole story. I can judge better then what is best for me to do."