Yes, she liked him—­liked him better than almost any one, she admitted; but she did not, she could not, love him.  She was married.

Wickersham ridiculed the idea.

Married!  Well, what difference did that make?  Did not many married women love other men than their husbands?  Had not her husband gone after another?

Her eyes closed suddenly; then her eyelids fluttered.

“Yes; but I am not like that.  I have children.”  She spoke slowly.

“Nonsense,” cried Wickersham.  “Of course, we love each other and belong to each other.  Send the children to your husband.”

Mrs. Wentworth recoiled in horror.  There was that in his manner and look which astounded her.  “Abandon her children?” How could she?  Her whole manner changed.  “You have misunderstood me.”

[Illustration:  “Sit down.  I want to talk to you.”]

Wickersham grew angry.

“Don’t be a fool, Louise.  You have broken with your husband.  Now, don’t go and throw away happiness for a priest’s figment.  Get a divorce and marry me, if you want to; but at least accept my love.”

But he had overshot the mark.  He had opened her eyes.  Was this the man she had taken as her closest friend!—­for whom she had quarrelled with her husband and defied the world!

Wickersham watched her as her doubt worked its way in her mind.  He could see the process in her face.  He suddenly seized her and drew her to him.

“Here, stop this!  Your husband has abandoned you and gone after another woman.”

She gave a gasp, but made no answer.

She pushed him away from her slowly, and after a moment rose and walked from the room as though dazed.

It was so unexpected that Wickersham made no attempt to stop her.

A moment later Lois entered the room.  She walked straight up to him.  Wickersham tried to greet her lightly, but she remained grave.

“Mr. Wickersham, I do not think you—­ought to come here—­as often as you do.”

“And, pray, why not?” he demanded.

Her brown eyes looked straight into his and held them steadily.

“Because people talk about it.”

“I cannot help people talking.  You know what they are,” said Wickersham, amused.

“You can prevent giving them occasion to talk.  You are too good a friend of Cousin Louise to cause her unhappiness.”  The honesty of her words was undoubted.  It spoke in every tone of her voice and glance of her eyes.  “She is most unhappy.”

Wickersham conceived a new idea.  How lovely she was in her soft blue dress!

“Very well, I will do what you say There are few things I would not do for you.”  He stepped closer to her and gazed in her eyes.  “Sit down.  I want to talk to you.”

“Thank you; I must go now.”

Wickersham tried to detain her, but she backed away, her hands down and held a little back.