She turned to him with a great sob.

"Oh, Victor, forgive me!" she said.

He was silent for a moment. He loved her with a great and passionate
love; to see her weep was torture, to see her suffer, misery. She had
never been dearer than in this hour. Still he stood aloof, torn by
doubt, racked by jealousy.

"Ethel," he cried out, "_why_ did you deceive me? I thought--I could
have sworn you were all truth and innocence, stainless as a lily,
white as an angel. And to think that another man--and of all men Juan
Catheron. No. I can't even think of it--it is enough to drive me mad!"

She fell down on her knees before him and held up her clasped hands.

There was a little sob, and her head lay on his shoulder.

"I tried to once or twice--I did indeed, but you know what a coward I
am. And mamma forbade my telling--that is the truth. She said I had
been a little fool--that was all over and done with--no need to be a
great fool, telling my own folly. And after we were married, and I saw
you jealous of every man I looked at--you know you were, sir!--I was
more scared than ever. I thought Juan Catheron was dead. I never wrote
to him. I had returned all his letters. I thought I had destroyed his
picture; I never knew that I had done so very wrong in knowing him at
all, until that day in Russell Square. But Victor--husband--only
forgive me this once, and I'll never, never have a secret from you
again as long as I live."