“You were always the best and dearest woman in the world,” I cried.

“And I betrayed you, dear.  That letter from Pasquale told me about his flight with Carlotta.  I lied to you—­but I was in a state bordering on madness.”

I rested my elbow on the mantel-piece and looked down on her.  She appeared so sweet and fragile, like a piece of Dresden china, incapable of base actions.  As I did not speak she went on:  “I did not mean to play into Pasquale’s hands, Marcus.  Heaven knows I didn’t—­but I did play into them.  Do you remember that awful night and our talk the next morning?  I asked you not to see her all day—­to mourn our dead love.  I knew you would keep your promise.  You are a man of sensitive honour.  If all men were like you, the world would be a beautiful place.”

“It would go to smash in a few weeks through universal incompetence,” I murmured, with some bitterness.

“There would be no meanness and treachery and despicable underhand doings.  Marcus, you must forgive me—­I was a desperate woman fighting for my life’s happiness.  I thought I would try one forlorn hope.  I kept you out of the way and came up here to see Carlotta.  Don’t interrupt me, Marcus; let me finish.  I happened to meet her a hundred yards down the road, and we went into the Regent’s Park.  We sat down and I told her about ourselves, and my love for you, and asked her to give you up.  I don’t believe she understood, Marcus.  She laughed and threw stones at a little dog.  I recovered my senses and left her there and went home sick with shame and humiliation.  I knew Pasquale was in love with her, for he had told me so the night before, and asked me how the marriage could be stopped.  He didn’t believe in your announcement to Hamdi Effendi.  But I never mentioned Pasquale to Carlotta, or hinted there might be another than you.  I was loyal so far, Marcus.  And two or three days afterwards came Pasquale’s letter.  And I waited for you, in a fearful joy.  I knew you would come to me—­and I was mad enough to think that time would heal—­that you would forget—­that we could have the dear past again—­and I would teach you to love me.  But then, suddenly, without a word of warning—­it has always been his way —­appeared my husband.  After that, you came with your offer of shelter and comfort—­and you seemed like the angel of the flaming vengeance.  For I had wronged you, dear—­robbed you of your happiness.  If I hadn’t prepared her mind for leaving you, she would never have run away.  If I had not done this, or if on the other hand you loved me, Marcus, I should perhaps have looked at things differently.  I am beginning to believe in God and to see his hand in it all.  I couldn’t come and live with you as your wife, Marcus.  Things stronger even than my love for you forbid it.  Our life together would not be the sweet and gracious thing it has always been to me.  We have come to the parting of the ways.  I must follow my husband.”