But Christie did not smile, and felt no inclination to say “Yes, Philip,” for that last speech of his jarred on her ear.  The tone of unconscious condescension in it wounded the woman’s sensitive pride; self was too apparent, and the most generous words seemed to her like bribes.  This was not the lover she had dreamed of, the brave, true man who gave her all, and felt it could not half repay the treasure of her innocent, first love.  This was not the happiness she had hoped for, the perfect faith, the glad surrender, the sweet content that made all things possible, and changed this work-a-day world into a heaven while the joy lasted.

She had decided to say “yes,” but her heart said “no” decidedly, and with instinctive loyalty she obeyed it, even while she seemed to yield to the temptation which appeals to three of the strongest foibles in most women’s nature,—­vanity, ambition, and the love of pleasure.

“You are very kind, but you may repent it, you know so little of me,” she began, trying to soften her refusal, but sadly hindered by a feeling of contempt.

“I know more about you than you think; but it makes no difference,” interrupted Mr. Fletcher, with a smile that irritated Christie, even before she understood its significance.  “I thought it would at first, but I found I couldn’t get on without you, so I made up my mind to forgive and forget that my wife had ever been an actress.”

Christie had forgotten it, and it would have been well for him if he had held his tongue.  Now she understood the tone that had chilled her, the smile that angered her, and Mr. Fletcher’s fate was settled in the drawing of a breath.

“Who told you that?” she asked, quickly, while every nerve tingled with the mortification of being found out then and there in the one secret of her life.

“I saw you dancing on the beach with the children one day, and it reminded me of an actress I had once seen.  I should not have remembered it but for the accident which impressed it on my mind.  Powder, paint, and costume made ‘Miss Douglas’ a very different woman from Miss Devon, but a few cautious inquiries settled the matter, and I then understood where you got that slight soupcon of dash and daring which makes our demure governess so charming when with me.”

As he spoke, Mr. Fletcher smiled again, and kissed his hand to her with a dramatic little gesture that exasperated Christie beyond measure.  She would not make light of it, as he did, and submit to be forgiven for a past she was not ashamed of.  Heartily wishing she had been frank at first, she resolved to have it out now, and accept nothing Mr. Fletcher offered her, not even silence.

“Yes,” she said, as steadily as she could, “I was an actress for three years, and though it was a hard life it was an honest one, and I’m not ashamed of it.  I ought to have told Mrs. Saltonstall, but I was warned that if I did it would be difficult to find a place, people are so prejudiced.  I sincerely regret it now, and shall tell her at once, so you may save yourself the trouble.”