She knew she had scored, but she felt no triumph--only a dull sort of misery at having humiliated the man she loved.

"Marie!" She turned round, the mask of indifference falling once more upon her face.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Who told you about last night?"

She shook her head. "n.o.body."

But he persisted. "Did Feathers tell you?"

"Feathers!" she echoed, with quiet scorn. "Do you think that I should discuss you with him?"

"Somebody must have told you," he said doggedly.

Her brown eyes met his sorrowfully.

"You ought to have told me," she said.

The color rushed again to his handsome face.

"I know. I was a fool. I don't know why I went out with her. I hate the woman..." He really thought he did at the moment. "But you had gone off with Feathers, and it was rottenly dull alone."

She interrupted very gently.

"I thought you would prefer to be left alone; you could have come had you chosen."

"I know, but ... oh, dash it all, there isn't any excuse for me, I know, and you behaved like a brick just now, Marie--letting her think that you didn't care."

There was an eloquent silence; then Marie said: "I only let her think what was the truth! I don't care at all! You are quite free to do as you like. We agreed that, didn't we? But I think, for your own sake, it would be better to tell me next time anything like that happens. I hate Mrs. Heriot to think that you have a secret with her and from me--it looks bad, Chris."

He gave an angry exclamation.

"Secret! It was no secret! You exaggerate when you say that."

"Do I? Well, I'm sorry." She turned to move away, but he followed.

"I hope you'll forgive me?" he asked with humility new to him.

Poor little Marie Celeste! The tears swam traitorously into her eyes, and she bit her lip.

"There isn't anything to forgive," she said. "I think, perhaps, we have both rather exaggerated things."

They walked along the sea front together, Chris silent and morose, with a little frown between his eyes.

Only once before had Marie made him feel ashamed, and that was years and years ago when he had pushed her out of the loft, and she had taken the blame and declared that she had fallen through her own carelessness.

Chris hated to feel ashamed, and after a moment he broke out again violently.

"I should have told you myself, only Mrs. Heriot did not wish it.

She said that people in the hotel would talk, and that she could not face the scandal. So what could I do?"

Marie looked at him in utter amazement. Was he as ignorant of women as all this? But she did not say what was in her mind--that she believed Mrs. Heriot would welcome notoriety of any sort.

"We won't talk about it any more," she said, hopelessly. "After all, you've got a perfect right to choose your own friends."

"Mrs. Heriot is not a friend. I play golf with her and bridge--that is all. I never make friends of women."

She did not contradict him, and they walked on a little way without speaking; then Marie said suddenly:

"Chris, don't you think we could go home at the end of the week?"

"Go home!" he echoed sharply. "You mean--to Aunt Madge?"

"Yes; I think I'm rather tired of the sea."

"We'll go to-morrow if you like; I shan't be sorry to leave the place myself."

He would have gone that morning in order to escape meeting Mrs.

Heriot again. He was more angry with himself than he was with her, for it was slowly dawning upon him that he had allowed himself to be made a fool of, and the feeling was unpleasant.

"I think it will do if we go at the end of the week," Marie said quietly. "I will write to Aunt Madge, so that she will be ready for us."

Chris frowned.

"We can't live with Aunt Madge indefinitely," he said at last. "We shall have to get a place of our own some-where."

"I know, but for the present she would like to have us." There was a note of anxiety in Marie's voice. Just now there was nothing she dreaded more than the thought of living somewhere alone with Chris.

Once it had seemed the height of bliss.

"There'll be plenty of money, fortunately," Chris went on. "We ought to manage to have quite a good time between us, don't you think?"

"Yes, I think so."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic," he complained. "I suppose you're still thinking about that rotten business last night."

She did not deny it.

"Supposing it had been me," she said, after a moment "Supposing I had gone out there with--with Mr. Dakers, for instance; and the same thing had happened. What would you have thought?"

Chris laughed unaffectedly.

"With old Feathers! Good Lord, you'd have been safe enough with him!"

Her face quivered. Would there never be anything she could do or say that would move him in the slightest?

"Perhaps that's how I felt about you and Mrs. Heriot," she said sharply.