’Miss.  Lord,—­I will still address you by that name,—­though for a very long time I have regarded you as a person worthy of all admiration, and have sincerely humbled myself before you, I cannot help thinking that a certain respect is due to me.  Even though I find that you have deceived me as to your position, the old feelings are still so strong in me that I could not bear to give you needless pain.  Instead of announcing to my father, and to other people, the strange facts which I have learnt, I come here as a friend,—­I speak with all possible forbearance,—­I do my utmost to spare you.  Am I not justified in expecting at least courteous treatment?’

A pause of awful impressiveness.  The listener, fully conscious at length of the situation she had to face, fell into a calmer mood.  All was over.  Suspense and the burden of falsehood had no longer to be endured.  Her part now, for this hour at all events, was merely to stand by whilst Fate unfolded itself.

‘Please say whatever you have to say, Mr. Barmby,’ she replied with quiet civility.  ’I believe your intention was good.  You made me nervous, that was all.’

’Pray forgive me.  Perhaps it will be best if I ask you a simple question.  You will see that the position I hold under your father’s will leaves me no choice but to ask it.  Is it true that you are married?’

’I will answer if you tell me how you came to think that I was married.’

‘I have been credibly informed.’

‘By whom?’

‘You must forgive me.  I can’t tell you the name.’

‘Then I can’t answer your question.’

Samuel mused.  He was unwilling to break a distinct promise.

‘No doubt,’ said Nancy, ’you have undertaken not to mention the person.’

‘I have.’

’If it is some one who used to be a friend of mine, you needn’t have any scruples.  She as good as told me what she meant to do.  Of course it is Miss.  Morgan?’

‘As you have yourself spoken the name—­’

’Very well.  She isn’t in her senses, and I wonder she has kept the secret so long.’

‘You admit the truth of what she has told me?’

‘Yes.  I am married.’

She made the avowal in a tone very like that in which, to Beatrice French, she had affirmed the contrary.

‘And your true name is Mrs. Tarrant?’

‘That is my name.’

The crudely masculine in Barmby prompted one more question, but some other motive checked him.  He let his eyes wander slowly about the room.  Even yet there was a chance of playing off certain effects which he had rehearsed with gusto.

’Can you imagine,’—­his voice shook a little,—­’how much I suffer in hearing you say this?’

’If you mean that you still had the hopes expressed in your letter some time ago, I can only say, in my defence, that I gave you an honest answer.’

’Yes.  You said you could never marry me.  But of course I couldn’t understand it in this sense.  It is a blow.  I find it very hard to bear.’