Harleston!" she said gently, permitting him, for an
instant, to look deep into her brown eyes. "Now, since you trust me, I
want to refer briefly to Mrs. Spencer's insinuation."
"Robert Clephane was all that she said--and more. Middle-aged when he
married me, before a year was passed I had found that I was only another
experience for him; and that after a short time he had resumed his ways
of--gaiety. Not caring to be pitied, nor to be so soon a deserted wife,
nor yet to admit my loss of attraction for him, I dashed into the gay
life of Paris with reckless fervour. I know I was indiscreet. I know I
fractured conventionality and was dreadfully compromised--but I never
violated the Seventh Commandment. Robert Clephane and I were not
separated--except by a locked door.
"Then one day some two years back, dreadfully mangled, they brought him
home. An aeroplane had fallen with him--with the usual result. That
moment saw the end of my gay life. I passed it up as completely as
though it had never been. The reason for it was gone. After a very
short period of mourning, I took up the quietness of a respectable
widow, who wished only to forget that she ever was married."
"I can understand exactly," said Harleston. "You shall never hear a word
from me to remind you.
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