She blushed.  “Val says it doesn’t matter what one knows so long as one doesn’t think about it in the wrong way.”  With her sweet friendly smile, she touched with her fingertip the lapel of his coat:  an airy gesture, but there was a fire as well as sweetness in Isabel, and for his life Lawrence could not repress a start.  “You mustn’t mind me, Captain Hyde.  You needn’t mind, because you couldn’t help it.  One can keep a secret for twenty years but not for ever, and for confessor I suppose any woman will do better than a man, won’t she?  It’s not as though I should ever tell any one else:  I never will, I promise you that.  You’ll go away and never see me again, and it’ll be as though no one knew or as though I were dead.”

Touching innocence!  Did she indeed imagine that after such a scene . . .?

“But I do not care two straws,” said Lawrence, “so spare your consolations!  On the contrary, it has been a great relief to me.  It’s as if you had unlocked a door.  The prisoner you have set free thanks you.  I was only afraid it might have been too much for you, but you’re made of strong stuff.  Yet I don’t suppose you ever saw a man weep before:  well, you’ve seen it now:  mon Dieu, mon Dieu, but I am tired!  But you’ve let yourself in for a considerable responsibility.”

“For what?”

“For me.  Do you think it can ever again be the same between us?” On one knee by Isabel’s chair, Hyde laughed down at her with his brilliant eyes, irreticent and unsparing of timidity in others.  “Do you think I could have leaned my head on any hands but yours?”

He came too near, he touched her.  Isabel had gone through a great deal that day, but, with the cruel and sordid history of Hyde’s married life fresh in her mind, none of the material horrors at Wancote had produced in her such a shuddering recoil as now.  His wife had not been dead six months!  “Captain Hyde, how dare you?”

“I beg your pardon.”

Lawrence drew himself up, a good-humoured smile on his lips:  but they were pale.  “I—­I didn’t mean to hurt you,” faltered Isabel, as the tension of his silence reached her.  What right had she, a young girl, to impose her own code of delicacy on a man of Hyde’s age and standing?—­Lawrence looked at her searchingly and his eyes changed, the sad irony died out of them, and rapidly, imperceptibly, he returned to his normal manner.

“Nor I to frighten you.  Why, what a child it is, after all!  Yes, your hands are strong, but they aren’t practised yet.  Never mind, you shall forget or remember anything you like, except this one thing which it pleases me and may please you to remember that I’m very glad you know the worst and weakest of me—­”

“Isabel, are you there?”

Thus daily life revenges itself on those who forget its existence.

“That is Val’s voice,” said Lawrence.  He stood up, no longer pale.  “Heavens, I can’t face him!”