'I knew,' said Clancy, 'that there was _something_--that there were other
fellows. But that I learned, more or less, under the seal of confession,
so to speak.'

'At a picnic,' said Merton.

At this moment the screen fell with a crash, and Julia emerged, her eyes
blazing, while Miss Crofton followed, her hat somewhat crushed by the
falling screen. The three young men in Holy Orders, all of them
desirable young men, arose to their feet, trembling visibly.

'Apostates!' cried Julia, who had by far the best of the dramatic
situation and pressed her advantage. 'Recreants! was it for such as
_you_ that I pointed to the crown of martyrdom? Was it for _your_
shattered ideals that I have wept many a night on Serena's faithful
breast?' She pointed to Miss Crofton, who enfolded her in an embrace.
'You!' Julia went on, aiming at them the finger of conviction. 'I am but
a woman, weak I may have been, wavering I may have been, but I took you
for men! I chose you to dare, perhaps to perish, for a Cause. But now,
triflers that you are, boys, mere boys, back with you to your silly
games, back to the thoughtless throng. I have done.'

Julia, attended by Miss Crofton, swept from the chamber, under her
indignation (which was quite as real as any of her other emotions) the
happiest woman in London. She had no more occasion for remorse, no
ideals had she sensibly injured. Her entanglements were disentangled.
She inhaled the fragrance of orange blossoms from afar, and heard the
marriage music in the chapel of the Guards. Meanwhile the three curates
and Merton felt as if they had been whipped.