"I dressed in fifteen minutes," she announced gaily. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Making an a.s.s of myself, as usual," he muttered; then looked toward Mrs. Rogers.

"What do you mean?" Alice inquired as she followed his glance. "What's the matter, Sis?" she asked, going up to Edith, and putting a hand on her arm.

The other tried to smile. "Nothing, dear; nothing," she said, her voice sounding far off. "Mr. Hall said something he thought made me feel bad, but it wasn't anything--not anything at all."

"What do you mean, Mr. Man, by saying mean things to my little sister?"

demanded Alice playfully, shaking her finger at Hall.

His reply was interrupted by Mrs. Pope. "How long before dinner, Edith?"

she inquired. "It's almost seven now."

"It will be a little late, mother. Perhaps ten minutes yet," Edith managed to say. She glanced timidly at her husband, but his stern, impa.s.sive face contained no message that she could read.

"Then I needn't have hurried, after all," exclaimed Alice, in an aggrieved tone. "How would you like to take a look at the grounds before dinner, Emerson?"

"There's hardly time, my dear." Mrs. Pope's manner was severely disapproving.

"Oh, yes, there is." She took Hall by the arm, and moved toward the steps. "Come along, Emerson."

"I will accompany you, Alice," said her mother, hastily joining them.

She evidently intended to keep Alice and the despised possessor of only four thousand a year under her watchful eye.

"Won't you and Donald come too?" asked Alice sarcastically as she left the porch.

Donald regarded her without interest. He scarcely heard what she said.

"No, we will wait here," he replied; then looked searchingly at his wife.

"Call us when dinner is ready," Alice flung back at them over her shoulder, as she and Mr. Hall disappeared around the corner of the veranda, Mrs. Pope puffing along in their wake, like a fussy little tugboat under full steam.

Edith was the first to break the silence. "Donald!" she faltered, her voice breaking pitifully; then took a step toward him.

"Is this story true?" he demanded.

"Wait, Donald--wait!" she cried. "Don't judge me harshly."

"Is this story true?" he repeated, his face drawn with anger.

She continued to approach him, her arms held out in piteous appeal.

"Donald--what do you want me to say?"

Donald's expression turned to one of bitter anguish. The denial he had half-hoped for, in spite of Hall's story, was not forthcoming. In every word, in every gesture, his wife showed her guilt.

"My G.o.d, I can't believe it!" he groaned. "Why did you do this thing?"

"Don't ask me any more--don't! Can't you see it's all past and gone?"

"No! It has only just begun. Were you in love with him? Don't lie to me!"

"Donald--I--I--really wasn't. I--" Her voice choked with sobs; she was unable to meet his searching gaze.

"I don't believe you."

She came near to him, her look, her manner, her every movement an appeal for forgiveness. "Donald!" she cried. "I--I--only thought I was. It wasn't true. I never loved anyone but you--don't you see that I am telling you the truth?"

"You've got to tell me the truth." His voice was stern--implacable. "Did West ask you to leave me, and go away with him?"

"Donald--dear--don't!" she cried wildly. "Let me explain!"

"Answer me!" he demanded angrily.

"Yes." The word was scarcely audible through her sobs.

Donald pa.s.sed his hand unsteadily across his eyes and turned away. It seemed unbelievable. West--his bosom friend--the man he would have trusted with his life. "The scoundrel! And I trusted him so!" he groaned, then looked again at his wife. "Did you agree to go?" he demanded.

"I did not know what I was doing--I was mad. Oh, Donald--forgive me--forgive me!" She put her hand on his arm, the tears streaming down her face.

"Did you agree to go?" His voice was even harder and more peremptory.

"Yes," she whispered, "I did."

The bitterness of it all almost overcame him. He loved her very deeply.

"How could you?" he moaned. "How could you?"

She saw his momentary weakness, and, woman-like, took quick advantage of it. "Donald," she cried, through her tears, "Donald! Forgive me! I agreed in a moment of madness. I have tried so hard, all these months, to be worthy of you--of your love. Can't you believe me?"

"You would have gone," he said bitterly. "You would have gone!"

"Donald! I--"

"Don't deny it. I know it is true. What did he go to Denver for?"

"To sell his property--to--"

"To sell it out, so that he would be free to go away with you," he interrupted hotly. "He died raving over your daily letters, and left you every cent he had in the world. Does that look as though you had changed your mind?" He turned from her with an expression of disgust. "What a fool you have made of me!" he cried.

"Donald! Listen to me. You must!"

"No! I'll do the talking now. Did you know he had made his will in your favor?"

"No!"

"Why did you wire to find out how he was?"

"Because he was sick, and I was worried about him. I hadn't heard a word from him for three days. I knew nothing about the money until that awful night when the lawyer came."

"And you took it! In spite of all--you took it. You accepted this man's money!"