“This is from Miss Madeley, and it’s all about you.  Why couldn’t you speak the other day?”

“What does she say about me?”

“That she has known you for a long time; that you saw a great deal of each other in London; that she has led you on with a hope of marrying her, though she never really meant it; in short, that she has used you very ill, and feels obliged now to make a clean breast of it.”

The listener fixed his eye upon a copying-press, but without seeing it.  A grim smile began to contort his lips.

“Where does she write from?”

“From her ordinary address—­why not?  I think this is rather too bad of you.  Why didn’t you speak, instead of writhing about and sputtering?  That kind of thing is all very well—­sense of honour and all that—­but it meant that I was being taken in.  Between friends—­hang it!  Of course I have done with her.  I shall write at once.  It’s amazing; it took away my breath.  No doubt, though she doesn’t say it, it was from you that she came to know of me.  She began with a lie.  And who the devil could have thought it!  Her face —­her way of talking!  This will cut me up awfully.  Of course, I’m sorry for you, too, but it was your plain duty to let me know what sort of a woman I had got hold of.  Nay, it’s she that has got hold of me, confound her!  I don’t feel myself!  I’m thoroughly knocked over!”

Hilliard began humming an air.  He crossed the room and sat down.

“Have you seen her since that Saturday?”

“No; she has made excuses, and I guessed something was wrong.  What has been going on? You have seen her?”

“Of course.”

Narramore glared.

“It’s devilish underhand behaviour!  Look here, old fellow, we’re nut going to quarrel.  No woman is worth a quarrel between two old friends.  But just speak out—­can’t you?  What did you mean by keeping it from me?”

“It meant that I had nothing to say,” Hilliard replied, through his moustache.

“You kept silence out of spite, then?  You said to yourself, ’Let him marry her and find out afterwards what she really is!’”

“Nothing of the kind.”  He looked up frankly.  “I saw no reason for speaking.  She accuses herself without a shadow of reason; it’s mere hysterical conscientiousness.  We have known each other for half a year or so, and I have made love to her, but I never had the least encouragement.  I knew all along she didn’t care for me.  How is she to blame?  A girl is under no obligation to speak of all the men who have wanted to marry her, provided she has done nothing to be ashamed of.  There’s just one bit of insincerity.  It’s true she knew of you from me.  But she looked you up because she despaired of finding employment; she was at an end of her money, didn’t know what to do.  I have heard this since I saw you last.  It wasn’t quite straightforward, but one can forgive it in a girl hard driven by necessity.”