In due course he reached the Oaks and went in.  Luncheon was on the table, at which Belle was sitting.  She was, as usual, dressed in black, and beautiful to look on; but her round babyish face was pale and pinched, and there were black lines beneath her eyes.

“I did not know that you were coming back to luncheon,” she said; “I am afraid there is not much to eat.”

“Yes,” he said, “I finished my business up at the Castle, so I thought I might as well come home.  By-the-by, Belle, I have a bit of news for you.”

“What is it?” she asked, looking up sharply, for something in his tone attracted her attention and awoke her fears.

“Your friend, Edward Cossey, is going to be married to Ida de la Molle.”

She blanched till she looked like death itself, and put her hands to her heart as though she had been stabbed.

“The Squire told me so himself,” he went on, keeping his eyes remorselessly fixed upon her face.  She leaned forward and he thought that she was going to faint, but she did not.  By a supreme effort she recovered herself and drank a glass of sherry which was standing by her side.

“I expected it,” she said in a low voice.

“You mean that you dreaded it,” answered Mr. Quest quietly.  He rose and locked the door and then came and stood close to her and spoke.

“Listen, Belle.  I know all about your affair with Edward Cossey.  I have proofs of it, but I have forborne to use them, because I saw that in the end he would weary of you and desert you for some other woman, and that would be my best revenge upon you.  You have all along been nothing but his toy, the light woman with whom he amused his leisure hours.”

She put her hands back over her heart but said no word and he went on.

“Belle, I did wrong to marry you when you did not want to marry me, but, being married, you have done wrong to be unfaithful to your vows.  I have been rewarded by your infidelity, and your infidelity has been rewarded by desertion.  Now I have a proposal to make, and if you are wise you will accept it.  Let us set the one wrong against the other; let both be forgotten.  Forgive me, and I will forgive you, and let us make peace—­if not now, then in a little while, when your heart is not so sore—­and go right away from Edward Cossey and Ida de la Molle and Honham and Boisingham, into some new part of the world where we can begin life again and try to forget the past.”

She looked up at him and shook her head mournfully, and twice she tried to speak and twice she failed.  The third time her words came.

“You do not understand me,” she said.  “You are very kind and I am very grateful to you, but you do not understand me.  I cannot get over things so easily as I know most women can; what I have done I never can undo.  I do not blame him altogether, it was as much or more my fault than his, but having once loved him I cannot go back to you or any other man.  If you like I will go on living with you as we live, and I will try to make you comfortable, but I can say no more.”