dining-room. The confusion of rustling skirts and sliding chairs quite
covered their speech for a moment and made them seem almost alone. Her
hand had been resting on his arm and now she drew it out, looking up at
him again as she did so. Her eyes had a premonitory mist over them.

"For Heaven’s sake," she said very earnestly, "tell me what he said?"

He was silent.

"Tell me," she pleaded.

He was still silent.

"Tell me," she said imperiously.

He continued silent. They sat down.

"Mr. Denham," she said, as she took up her napkin, and her voice grew very
low, and yet he heard, "I don’t think that we can pretend to be joking any
longer. You are my brother’s friend, and I am a married woman. Please
treat me as you should."

"That’s just it," said Jack; "that’s all there is to it. It wouldn’t have
amounted to anything except for that—or perhaps, if it hadn’t been for
that, it might have amounted to a great deal."

"If it hadn’t been for what?"

"For your being married."