“I thought I was the only one,” he said.  “Is it possible that there is another?”

“I am the other,” she announced.  I think she expected him to say “Impossible,” but, whatever he was, he was never banal.

“Is that so?” he asked politely, trying to be interested and to understand at the same time.  He had not seen me.  He was gazing fixedly at Bella, languishing on the divan and watching him with lowered lids, and he had given Jim a side glance of contempt.  But now he saw me and he colored under his tan.  His neck blushed furiously, being much whiter than his face.  He kept his eyes on mine, and I knew that he was mutely asking forgiveness.  But the thought of what was coming paralyzed me.  My eyes were glued to his as they had been that first evening when he had called me “Mrs. Wilson,” and after an instant he looked away, and his face was set and hard.

“It seems that we have all been playing a little comedy, Mr. Harbison,” Aunt Selina began, nasally sarcastic.  “Or rather, you and I have been the audience.  The rest have played.”

“I—­I don’t think I understand,” he said slowly.  “I have seen very little comedy.”

“It was not well planned,” Aunt Selina retorted tartly.  “The idea was good, but the young person who was playing the part of Mrs. Wilson—­overacted.”

“Oh, come, Aunt Selina,” Jim protested, “Kit was coaxed and cajoled into this thing.  Give me fits if you like; I deserve all I get.  But let Kit alone—­she did it for me.”

Bella looked over at me and smiled nastily.

“I would stop doing things for Jim, Kit,” she said.  “It is so unprofitable.”

But Mr. Harbison harked back to Aunt Selina’s speech.

“Playing the part of Mrs. Wilson!” he repeated.  “Do you mean—?”

“Exactly.  Playing the part.  She is not Mrs. Wilson.  It seems that that honor belonged at one time to Miss Knowles.  I believe such things are not unknown in New York, only why in the name of sense does a man want to divorce a woman and then meet her at two o’clock in the morning to kiss the place where his own wedding ring used to rest?”

Jim fidgeted.  Bella was having spasms of mirth to herself, but the Harbison man did not smile.  He stood for a moment looking at the fire; then he thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his dressing gown, and stalked over to me.  He did not care that the others were watching and listening.

“Is it true?” he demanded, staring down at me.  “You are not Mrs. Wilson?  You are not married at all?  All that about being neglected—­and loathing him, and all that on the roof—­there was no foundation of truth?”

I could only shake my head without looking up.  There was no defense to be made.  Oh, I deserved the scorn in his voice.

“They—­they persuaded you, I suppose, and it was to help somebody?  It was not a practical joke?”

“No,” I rallied a little spirit at that.  It had been anything but a joke.