She moved a little but made no reply. He could see only the full, smooth curve of her cheek against his shoulder. It was rather colourless.

"I believe you are worn out," he said.

"I have not rested for weeks."

"On account of that Trust business?"

"Yes.... But I was tired before that--I had done too much--lived too much--and I've felt as though I were being hunted for so long.... And then--I was unhappy about you."

"Because I had joined in the hunt," he said.

"You were different, but--you made me feel that way, too--a little----"

"I understand now."

"Do you really?"

"Yes. It's been a case of men following, crowding after you, urging, importuning you to consider their desires--to care for them in their own way--all sorts I suppose, sad and sentimental, eager and exacting, head-long and boisterous--all at you constantly to give them what is not in you to give--what has never been awakened--what lies stunned, crippled, perhaps mangled in its sleep----"

"Killed," she whispered.

"Perhaps." He raised his eyes and looked absently out across the sparkling water. Sunlight slanted on his shoulder and her hair, gilding the nape of her white neck where the hair grew blond and fine as a child's. And like a child, still confused by memories of past terror, partly quieted yet still sensitive to every sound or movement, Strelsa lay close to the arm that sheltered her, thinking, wondering that she could endure it, and all the while conscious that the old fear of him was no longer there.

"Do you--know about me?" she asked in a still, low voice.

"About the past?"

"About my marriage."

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"Some things."

"You know what the papers said?"

"Yes.... Don't speak of it--unless you care to, Strelsa."

"I want to.... Do you know this is the first time?"

"Is it?"

"The first time I have ever spoken of it to anybody.... As long as my mother lived I did not once speak of it to her."

She rested in silence for a while, then:

"Could I tell you?"

"My dear, my dear!--of course you can."

"I--it's been unsaid so long--there was n.o.body to tell it to. I've done my best to forget it--and for days I seem to forget it. But sometimes when I wake at night it is there--the horror of it--the terror sinking deeper into my breast.... I was very young. You knew that?"

"Yes."

"You knew my mother had very slender means?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't have cared; I was an imaginative child--and could have lived quite happy with my fancies on very, very little.... I was a sensitive and affectionate child--inclined to be demonstrative. You wouldn't believe it, would you?"

"I can understand it."

"Can you? It's odd because I have changed so.... I was quite romantic about my mother--madly in love with her.... There is nothing more to say.... In boarding-school I was perfectly aware that I was being given the best grooming that we could afford. Even then romance persisted. I had the ideas of a coloured picture-book concerning men and love and marriage. I remember, as a very little child, that I had a picture-book showing Cinderella's wedding. It was a very golden sort of picture. It coloured my ideas long after I was grown up."

She moved her head a little, looked up for an instant and smiled; but at his answering smile she turned her cheek to his shoulder, hastily, and lay silent for a while. Presently she continued in a low voice:

"It was when we were returning for the April vacation--and the platform was crowded and some of the girls' brothers were there. There were two trains in--and much confusion--I don't know how I became separated from Miss Buckley and my schoolmates--I don't know to this day how I found myself on the Baltimore train, and Gladys Leeds's brother laughing and talking and the train moving faster and faster.... There is no use saying any more. I was as ignorant as I was innocent--a perfect little fool, frightened, excited, even amused by turns.... He had been attentive to me. We both were fools. Only finally I became badly scared and he talked such nonsense--and I managed to slip away from him and board the train at Baltimore as soon as we arrived there.... If he hadn't found me and returned to New York with me, it might not have been known. But we were recognised on the train and--it was a dreadful thing for me when I arrived home after midnight...."

She fell silent; once or twice he looked down at her and saw that her eyes were closed. Then, with a quick, uneven breath:

"I think you know the rest, don't you?"

"I think so."

But she went on in a low, emotionless voice: "I was treated like a damaged gown--for which depreciation in value somebody was to be made responsible. I suffered; days and nights seemed unreal. There were lawyers; did you know it?"

"No."

"Yes," she said wearily, "it was a bad dream--my mother, others--_his_ family--many people strange and familiar pa.s.sed through it. Then we travelled; I saw nothing, feeling half dead.... We were married in the Hawaiian Islands."

"I know."

"Then--the two years began."

After a long while she said again: "That was the real nightmare. I pa.s.sed through the depths as in a trance. There was nothing lower, not even h.e.l.l.... We travelled in Europe, Africa, and India for two years.... I scarcely remember a soul I saw or one single object. And then--_that_ happened."

"I know, dear."

A slight shudder pa.s.sed over her:

"I've told you," she whispered--"I've told you at last. Shall I tell you more?"

"Not unless----"

"I don't know whether I want to--about the gendarmes--and that terrible woman who screamed when they touched her with the handcuffs--and how ill I was----"

She had begun to tremble so perceptibly that Quarren's arm tightened around her; and presently she became limp and motionless.