He groaned, “And you listened—!”

“Am I not your mother-confessor?”

He seized her by the wrists.  “Don’t madden me!  You’re not really on the Halls?  You are living here as governess.  It is some prank, some masquerade!  Say it is!” He shook her.  She tried to wrest her hands away.

“Not till you tell me the truth!  You haven’t been lying to me all these months?”

A sudden remembrance came to give her strength and scorn.  “I have told you the truth, only my letter crossed you on the ocean.  When it returns to England, you will see.”

His grip relaxed, he staggered back.  “Come,” she said, pursuing her unforeseen advantage.  “We will talk this thing over quietly.  I always said you were in love with a shadow.  But I find it was I who imagined a Bayard.”

“And what have I done and said worse than other men?” Again Master Harold Lee Carter’s complacent sentiment came to her.  Men were all alike, only their women folk didn’t know.

“Worse than other men!” She laughed bitterly.  “I wanted you better—­all the seven heavens better—­saint as well as hero, with no thought but for me, and no one before me or after me.  Oh, yes, it sounds a large order, but that’s what we women want.  Don’t speak!  I know what you’re going to say.  Skip me.  Talk of yourself.”

“You get what you want.  The other’s only make-believe.  It passes like water from a duck’s back.  You women don’t understand.  The white fire of your purity cleanses us, and that is why we will have nothing less—­”

“Ah, now you have skipped to me.  I’m not pretending there isn’t an evil spirit in me to match yours.  It split away from me and became Nelly O’Neill.  You asked which I was?  I am both.  Here, I am a respectable governess.  Let me ring for Mrs. Lee Carter.  She’ll give you my character.  The white fire and all that.”  She pressed the bell.

“Don’t be so absurd.  Give me time to collect my senses.”

“All right, pick up the pieces, while I collect these.”  She stooped over the bits of glass.

“But for Heaven’s sake don’t bring that woman into it—­”

The door opened.  “Yes, miss?”

“Another glass, please.”  The servant disappeared.

“I do hope you won’t break this one.  In what country is it that the bridegroom breaks a glass in the marriage ceremonial?  Oh, yes, I remember.  Fossy told me.  Among the Jews.  There’s a lot in the profession.  Not that it’s such a marrying profession.  And to think I might have been a regular bride!  But I’ve lost you, my dear boy, hero of a hundred hill-fights, I know it—­and the moment you’ve picked your little bits of senses together, you’ll know it, too.  Alas, we shall never go tiger-hunting together.

  “’A night of memories and of sighs
    I consecrate to thee.’”

“I don’t say I won’t keep my promise,” he said sulkily.

“Your promise!  Hoity toity!  Upon my word!  I’m no breach-of-promise lady—­Chops and tomato sauce indeed!  I recognise that we could never marry.  There would always be that between us!”