“In order to understand the extraordinary consequences of your interview, I should like to have some idea of what took place.  I know, my dear Eleanor,” I continued as gently as I could, “I know that you went to see her out of the very great kindness of your heart—­”

“No, I didn’t.”

I made a little gesture in lieu of reply.  There was a span of silence.  Eleanor played with the silky ears of Agatha’s little Yorkshire terrier which had somehow strayed into the room and taken possession of her lap.

“Don’t you see, Simon?” she said at last, half tearfully, without taking her eyes off the dog, “don’t you see that by accusing me in this way you make it almost impossible for me to speak?  And I was going to be so loyal to you.”

A tear fell down her cheek on to the dog’s back, and convicted me of unmitigated brutality.

“What else could you be but loyal?” I murmured.  “Your attitude all through has shone it.”

She flashed her hand angrily over her eyes, and looked at me.  “And I wanted to be loyal to the end.  If you had waited and she had waited, you would have seen.  As soon as I could have conveyed it to you decently, I should have shown you——­Ah!” She broke off, put the Yorkshire terrier on the sofa beside her, and rose with an impatient gesture.  “You want to know why I called on Lola Brandt?  I felt I had to know for myself what kind of woman she was.  She was the woman between us—­you and me.  You don’t suppose I ceased to care for you just because what we thought was a fatal illness broke off our engagement!  I did care for you.  I cared for you—­in a way; I say ’in a way’—­I’ll tell you why later on.  When we met here the last time do you think I was not moved?  I knew your altered position would not allow you to suggest a renewal of the engagement so I offered you the opportunity.  Do you remember?  But I could not tell whether you still cared for me or whether you cared for the other woman.  So I had to go and see her.  I couldn’t bear to think that you might feel in honour bound to take me at my word and be caring all the time for some one else.  I went to see her, and then I realised that I didn’t count.  Don’t ask why.  Women know these things.  And I found that she loved you with a warmth and richness I’m incapable of.  I felt I had stepped into something big and splendid, as if I had been a caterpillar walking into the heart of a red rose.  I felt prim and small and petty.  Until then I had never known what love meant, and I didn’t feel it; I couldn’t feel it.  I couldn’t give you a millionth part of what that woman does.  And I knew that having lived in that atmosphere, you couldn’t possibly be content with me.  If you had waited, I should have found some means of telling you so.  That’s what I meant by saying I was loyal to you.  And I thought I had made it clear to her.  It seems I didn’t.  It isn’t my fault.”

“My dear,” said I, when she had come to the end of this astonishing avowal, and stood looking at me somewhat defiantly and twisting her fingers nervously in front of her, “I don’t know what in the world to say to you.”