Presently Dan came into the room and sat down heavily.  June looked across at him.

“She has gone, Dan,” she said quietly.  She did not use the word “they.”  Those others did not count as far as she was concerned.  Her use of the pronoun sounded significantly in Storran’s ears.

“You know, then?” he said dully.  Adding, after a moment’s pause.  “Did she tell you?”

“Tell me?” repeated June doubtfully.  “Tell me what?”

“That she’s robbed you of all that belongs to you.”

Her face blanched.  “What do you mean, Dan?” she asked falteringly.  “I don’t think I understand.”

Her wide, questioning blue eyes, with that softness and depth of expression dawning in them which motherhood gives to women’s eyes, searched his face.  The innocent appeal of them cut him to the heart.  He had loved his wife; and now he had to tell her that he loved her no longer.

“You’ve got to understand,” he said roughly.  His hatred of being compelled to hurt her made him almost brutal.  “I—­everything is changed between us, June.”  He stopped, not knowing how to go on.

“Changed?  How, Dan?” Her voice sharpened with apprehension.  “Do you mean—­that you don’t—­care any longer?”

“Yes.  It’s that.  It’s Magda—­Oh, good God!  Can’t you understand?”

“You love Miss Vallincourt?” June spoke in carefully measured accents.  She felt that if she did not speak very quietly indeed she should scream.  She wanted to laugh, too.  It sounded so absurd to be asking her husband if he loved Miss Vallincourt!

Dan’s eyes met her own.

“Yes,” he said.  “I love her.”  He paused a moment, then added:  “I asked her to go away with me.”

June stared at him dumbly.  The whole thing seemed unreal.  She could not feel as though what Dan was saying had any relation to herself, any bearing on their life together.  At last: 

“Why didn’t you go, then?” she heard herself say—­at least, she supposed she must be saying it, although the voice didn’t sound a bit like her own.

Dan turned on her with sudden savagery.  His nerves were raw.

“You speak as though you were disappointed,” he said roughly.

“No.  But if you care for Miss Vallincourt and she cares for you, I’m wondering what stopped you.”

“She doesn’t care for me”—­shortly.

June felt a thrill of pure joy.  If Magda didn’t care, then she could win him back—­win back her husband!  Within her she was instinctively aware that if Magda had cared, no power of hers could have won back Dan’s allegiance.  A faint doubt assailed her.

“She—­she seemed as if she cared?” she ventured.

Dan nodded indifferently.

“Yes.  I was a summer holiday’s amusement for her.”

“And—­was that all?”

As June spoke, her direct gaze sought her husband’s face.  He met it fair and square, unflinchingly.