what do you think me in your heart of hearts, but
a wild, untamed Orson, fresh from the woods?"

Mrs. Fermor felt a twinge. She felt for this
poor rude man, who had no friends; no kith nor
kin, and who was grateful for a little sympathy,
and over whom she held such a secret power. So
she said quickly, "No, no, I don't agree to that.
You are not so bad."

"How good you are," he said, with grateful
eyes. "I am but an acquaintance, but those who
know you better, how they must appreciate; for
instance, your husband, whom I so thoughtlessly
and irreverently called 'Orson.' How he must
prize and cherish, how 'uxorious'—is not that
the word?—he must be, even to fatigue; he must
play the doting husband to perfection! Eh?"

Again the old doubting look came on Mrs.
Fermor's face. She did not answer. A pink,
handsome, and rather foolish face, came to Mr.
Romaine, and said:

"I say, Romaine, why don't you come. My wife
has sent me for you. She has all sorts of secrets,
and has been signalling this half-hour?"

Romaine threw Mrs. Fermor a look of significance,
as who should say, "You see." He
stooped over and said, in a low voice, "Do you
know what is behind all this? Riding to-morrow
in the Park—a pic-nic the day after—then a three
weeks' visit down at Massinger. They are filling
their house, and she says they can't get on
without me. These are the little secrets. Give
a poor outcast your advice—come."

Mrs. Fermor, with glowing cheeks, could not
restrain her little smile of pride. She had the
bold dangerous man completely in her power, to
mould him for his own good. "You won't go,"
she said. "You must not go; at least, I have
no influence, I know, but——"

"No influence!" he said. "Well, I say
nothing of that. They will have their plays—
'amateur theatricals,' as they call them. They
will make me the 'premier amoureux.' Why,
even that donkey Spendlesham is getting them
up. Tableaux, he calls them. They are to have
you. He has just asked me. Ah! you could
act! What parts shall we choose—Alexander
and the two Queens, or Petrarch and his Laura?"

A little bewildered at this rambling speech,
Mrs. Fermor could only say, "O no, indeed I
could not."

"You no influence?" he went on. "Yes, you
have. I confess it. I have felt it for weeks
back growing steadily every day. I cannot trust
myself, but I can trust you. Don't think that
your life is not known to me, and that I do not feel
for you. I know what goes on in your house. I
know—and forgive me for saying so—that there
has been one more fatal mistake added to the
tremendous list of mistakes, now nearly full——"

"Mr. Romaine," she began, much frightened.

"I confess," he went on," at first I met you
with that indifference which I feel for every
woman. But this has been wearing away. It is
altogether worn away now. Oh, you might do
much with me—much more than you have done.
But things cannot go on always as they go on
now. My heart burns to see one that I call
Orson so cold and neglectful, when there is one,
as you know and understand——"

"I do understand," said she, in a perfect
tumult of terror and surprise, and trembling
with agitation. "At last—O let me out—let
me go! You shouldn't have done this, Mr.
Romaine—for shame, for shame! O let me out
quick—let me pass!"

He never moved. "That is well done," he
said. "Now I go on. 'O lovely Laura! what
rage in those flashing eyes! You cannot conceal
the flutterings of your heart,' and so on— We
shall do it very well together on Spendlesham's
boards."

For a moment she was astounded at this
readiness and coolness; but in another moment the
earnestness of his first speech came back upon
her, and she said again, "O for shame, for
shame! It was very cruel of you! O, what do
you mean? Now let me go; and you must
never, never speak to me again."

At this moment Fermor came striding up. He
had been looking on. He pushed past Romaine
rather rudely, put out his arm for his wife, and
said, in a fierce whisper, "Come away at once.
You seem lost to all shame! You are making me
the talk of the room. Come at once. Come home.
You shall answer to me for this!"

The little woman, so warm and impetuous,
had behaved nobly and chivalrously, as she
fancied. She was firmly determined never to
open her lips to Romaine again; and yet this was
her reward!

Fermor saw the resentment in her face. "I
suppose you mean to brave me here, before all
these people?" He was beside himself with rage.
"Come away, I say—have at least some
semblance of respect and decency."

"Respect and decency!" said Romaine,
laughing. "What odd words you use, my good
Fermor."

"Would you allow us to go by?" said Fermor,
with forced politeness.

"With all my heart," said the other. "But
you gave us such a start. We were talking of
such interesting things. But all secrets, remember,
Mrs. Fermor; or your husband will have me
out the first thing in the morning."

This, though spoken gaily, contained a hint
for Mrs. Fermor, which she could not but take.

Fermor made no reply, but hurried her down
stairs. "We must see about this," he said,
under his breath, "and settle the thing one way
or the other. You are at perfect liberty to
consult your own reputation as you please, but I am
determined I shall not be made the laughing-
stock of the town. I am not to be compromised."

He felt her arm trembling on his, but she said
nothing. Here was injustice—monstrous, killing
injustice. Something like the shade of a blight
flashed across her.

As they went home in the little dark brougham
there was one of the old stormy miserable