"Marsh," she began again. "Could you forgive me if you knew that I'd
thought I cared for some one else? Could you, if I told you that for a
moment I had the thought--the silly thought, that I cared for another
man?" She was conscious that his hand had grown cold beneath her cheek.
"It was just a foolish fancy, quite as innocent as it was foolish, dear;
you left me so much alone, and I thought you really didn't care for me
any more, and so--and so--"

"Go on!"

"Well, that is all, Marsh."

"All?"

"Yes, it went no further than that, just a silly fancy, and I'd known
him all my life--"

"Of whom are you speaking?"

"Of John North--"

"Damn him!" he cried. "And so that's what brought him here--and you were
with him last night!" He sprang to his feet, his face livid. "What do
you take me for? Do you expect me to forgive you for that--"

"But Marsh, it was just a silly sentimental fancy! Oh, why did I tell
you!"

"Yes, why _did_ you tell me!" he stormed.