“He died,” interposed Lord Blythe, slowly—­“He died—­alone and very poor—­”

“So I was told,” she rejoined, indifferently—­“Oh yes!  I see you look at me as if you thought I had no heart!  Perhaps I have not,—­ I used to have something like one,—­your friend Armitage killed it in me.  Anyhow, I knew the child had been adopted by the farm people as their own, and I took no further trouble.  My parents came home from India to inherit an unexpected fortune, and they took me about with them a great deal—­they were never told of my romantic escapade!—­then I met you—­and you married me.”

A sigh broke from him, but he said nothing.

“You are sorry you did, I suppose!” she went on in a quick, reckless way—­“Anyhow, I tried to do my duty.  When I heard by chance that the old farmer who had taken care of the child was dead, I made up my mind to go and see what she was like.  I found her, and offered to adopt her—­but she wouldn’t hear of it—­so I let her be.”

Lord Blythe moved a little from his statuesque attitude of attention.

“You told her you were her mother?”

“I did.”

“And offered to ‘adopt’ your own child?” She gave an airy gesture.

“It was the only thing to do!  One cannot make a social scandal.”

“And she refused?”

“She refused.”

“I admire her for it,” said Lord Blythe, calmly.

She shot an angry glance at him.  He went on in cold, deliberate accents.

“You were unprepared for the strange compensation you have received?—­the sudden fame of your deserted daughter?”

Her hands clasped and unclasped themselves nervously.

“I knew nothing of it!  Armitage is not an uncommon name, and I did not connect it with her.  She has no right to wear it.”

“If her father were alive he would be proud that she wears it!—­ moreover he would give her the right to wear it, and would make it legal,” said Lord Blythe sternly—­“Out of old memory I can say that for him!  You recognised each other at once, I suppose, when I presented her to you at the Duchess’s reception?”

“Of course we did!” retorted his wife—­“You yourself saw that I was rather taken aback,—­it was difficult to conceal our mutual astonishment—­”

“It must have been!” and a thin ironic smile hovered on his lips—­ “And you carried it off well!  But—­the poor child!—­what an ordeal for her!  You can hardly have felt it so keenly, being seasoned to hypocrisy for so many years!” Her eyes flashed up at him indignantly.  He raised his hand with a warning gesture.

“Permit me to speak, Maude!  You can scarcely wonder that I am—­ well!—­a little shaken and bewildered by the confession you have made,—­the secret you have—­after years of marriage—­suddenly divulged.  You suggested—­at the beginning of this interview—­that perhaps there was nothing in the social life of our day that would very much shock or surprise me—­and I answered