She paused, for Dick’s arms had tightened about her.

“Go on!” he said, in a low voice.  “I suppose he—­made love to you, did he?”

“Everyone did that,” she said.  “He was just a specimen of the rest—­except that I always somehow knew he had more heart.  It was just a game with us all.  It used to frighten me rather at first till—­till I got used to it.  When I was quite young I had rather a bitter lesson.  I began to care for a man who I thought was in earnest, and I found he wasn’t.  After that, I never needed another.  I played the game with the rest.  Sometimes I hurt people, but I didn’t care.  I always said it was their fault for being taken in.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” he said.

“That was me,” she returned, with a touch of recklessness, “till I read that first book of yours—­The Valley of Dry Bones.  That brought me up short.  It shocked me horribly.  You cut very deep, Dicky.  I’m carrying the scars still.”

He bent without words and set his lips to her forehead, keeping them there in mute caress while she went on.

“I had just begun to play with Ivor Yardley.  He was my latest catch, and—­I was rather proud of him.  He didn’t trouble to pursue many women.  And then—­after reading that book—­I felt so evil, so unspeakably ashamed, that, when I knew he was really in earnest, I didn’t throw him off like the rest.  I accepted him.”

She shuddered suddenly and twined her arm about her husband’s neck.

“Dicky, I—­went through hell—­after that.  I tried—­I tried very hard—­to be honourable—­to keep my word.  But—­when the time drew near—­I simply couldn’t.  He always knew—­he must have known—­I didn’t love him.  But he just wanted me, and he didn’t care.  And so—­almost at the last moment—­I let him down—­I ran away.  And, oh, Dicky, the peace of this place after all that misery and turmoil!  You can’t imagine what it was like.  It was heaven.  And I thought—­I thought it was going to be quite easy to be good!”

“And then I came and upset it all,” murmured Dick, with his lips against her hair.

Her hold tightened.  “It’s been one perpetual struggle against appalling odds ever since,” she said.  “If it hadn’t been for—­Robin—­I should never have married you.”

“Yes, you would,” he said quietly.  “That was meant.  I’ve realized that since.”

“I am not sure,” she said.  “If you hadn’t been so miserable, I should have told you the truth.  You wouldn’t have married me then.”

“Yes, I should,” he said.

She drew a little away to look into his face.  “Dick, are you sure of that?”

“I am quite sure,” he said, and faintly smiled.  “It’s just because I am sure, that I am with you now—­instead of Saltash.  It was his own test.”

Her eyes met his unflinching.  “Dick, you believe that Saltash and I are just—­friends?”

“I believe it,” he said.

“And you are not angry with him?”