that I have wrecked his life, Bertha--and yet I cannot give him my
own, to make some poor sort of amends."

Bertha was listening with a face that changed from puzzled interest
to wondering confusion.

"Good gracious!" she exclaimed when the speaker ceased. "Is it
possible to get into such entanglements of reasoning about what one
thinks and feels? It's beyond me. Oh they're bringing the tea.
Perhaps a cup of tea will clear my wits."

Rosamund at once began to speak of the landscape by Leader, which
hung near them, and continued to do so even after the servant had
withdrawn. Her companion was silent, smiling now and then in an
absent way. They sipped tea.

"The tea is doing me so much good," Bertha said, "I begin to feel
equal to the most complicated reflections. And so you really believe
that Mr. Franks is on the way to perdition, and that you are the
cause of it?"

Rosamund did not reply. She had half averted her look; her brows
were knit in an expression of trouble; she bit her lower lip. A
moment passed, and--

"Suppose we go into the garden," she said, rising. "Don't you feel
it a little close here?"

They strolled about the paths. Her companion, seeming to have
dismissed from mind their subject of conversation, began to talk of