“And what is this momentous statement?” she asked.

I had hard work to keep my temper, but I knew that I must not lose it.

“I declare to you on my honor that my business in New Orleans in no way concerns you, and that I had not the slightest notion of finding you here.  Will you believe that?”

“And what then?” she asked.

“I also declare to you that, since meeting your son, my chief anxiety has been lest he should run across you.”

“You are very considerate of others,” she said.  “Let us admit for the sake of argument that you come here by accident.”

It was the opening I had sought for, but despaired of getting.

“Then put yourself for a moment in my place, Madame, and give me credit for a little kindliness of feeling, and a sincere affection for your son.”

There was a new expression on her face, and the light of a supreme effort in her eyes.

“I give you credit at least for a logical mind,” she answered.  “In spite of myself you have put me at the bar and seem to be conducting my trial.”

“I do not see why there should be any rancor between us,” I answered.  “It is true that I hated you at Temple Bow.  When my father was killed and I was left a homeless orphan you had no pity for me, though your husband was my mother’s brother.  But you did me a good turn after all, for you drove me out into a world where I learned to rely upon myself.  Furthermore, it was not in your nature to treat me well.”

“Not in my nature?” she repeated.

“You were seeking happiness, as every one must in their own way.  That happiness lay, apparently, with Mr. Riddle.”

“Ah,” she cried, with a catch of her breath, “I thought you would be judging me.”

“I am stating facts.  Your son was a sufficient embarrassment in this matter, and I should have been an additional one.  I blame you not, Mrs. Temple, for anything you have done to me, but I blame you for embittering Nick’s life.”

“And he?” she said.  It seemed to me that I detected a faltering in her voice.

“I will hide nothing from you.  He blames you, with what justice I leave you to decide.”

She did not answer this, but turned her head away towards the bayou.  Nor could I determine what was in her mind.

“And now I ask you whether I have acted as your friend in begging you to meet me.”

She turned to me swiftly at that.

“I am at a loss to see how there can be friendship between us, Mr. Ritchie,” she said.

“Very good then, Madame; I am sorry,” I answered.  “I have done all that is in my power, and now events will have to take their course.”

I had not gone two steps into the wood before I heard her voice calling my name.  She had risen, and leaned with her hand against the oak.

“Does Nick—­know that you are here?” she cried.

“No,” I answered shortly.  Then I realized suddenly what I had failed to grasp before,—­she feared that I would pity her.