“Yes!  I know you!  You are good and generous—­It ought surely to be possible to stop this before it gets talked about?  If I were guilty, it would be different.  But I have done no wrong; I have only been weak and foolish.  I thought of going straight to my brother, but there is the dreadful thought that he might not believe me.  It is so hard for a woman accused in this way to seem innocent; men always see the dark side.  He has no very good opinion of me, as it is, I know he hasn’t.  I turned so naturally to you; I felt you would do your utmost for me in my misery.—­If only my husband can be brought to see that I am not guilty, that he wouldn’t win the suit, then perhaps he would cease from it.  I will give all the money I can —­all I have!”

Piers stood reflecting.

“Tell me all the details you have learnt,” he said.  “What evidence do they rely on?”

Her head bowed, her voice broken, she told of place and time and the assertions of so-called witnesses.

“Why has this plot against you been a year in ripening?” asked Otway.

“Perhaps we are wrong in thinking it a plot.  My husband may only just have discovered what he thinks my guilt in some chance way.  If so, there is hope.”

They sat mute for a minute or two.

“If only I can hide this from Olga,” said Mrs. Hannaford.  “Think how dreadful it is for me, with her!  We were going to ask you to spend another evening with us—­but how is it possible?  If I send you the invitation, will you make an answer excusing yourself—­saying you are too busy?  To prevent Olga from wondering.  How hard, how cruel it is!  Just when we had made ourselves a home here, and might have been happy!”

Piers stood up, and tried to speak words of encouragement.  The charge being utterly false, at worst a capable solicitor might succeed in refuting it.  He was about to take his leave, when he remembered that he did not know Daniel’s address:  Mrs. Hannaford gave it.

“I am sorry you went there,” he said.

And as he left the room, he saw the woman’s eyes follow him with that look of woe which signals a tottering mind.

CHAPTER XXIII

Without investigating her motives, Irene Derwent deferred as long as possible her meeting with the man to whom she had betrothed herself.  Nor did Arnold Jacks evince any serious impatience in this matter.  They corresponded in affectionate terms, exchanging letters once a week or so.  Arnold, as it chanced, was unusually busy, his particular section of the British Empire supplying sundry problems just now not to be hurriedly dealt with by those in authority; there was much drawing-up of reports, and translating of facts into official language, in Arnold’s secretarial department.  Of these things he spoke to his bride-elect as freely as discretion allowed; and Irene found his letters interesting.

The ladies in Cheshire were forewarned of the new Irene who was about to visit them; political differences did not at all affect their kindliness; indeed, they saw with satisfaction the girl’s keen mood of loyalty to the man of her choice.  She brought with her the air of Greater Britain; she poke much, and well, of the destinies of the Empire.