The Helpmate | Page 5

mole seemed literally to catch up her lip against its will, on purpose to
show the small white teeth below. Majendie loved Anne's mole. It was
that one charming and emphatic fault in her face, he said, that made it
human. But Anne was ashamed of it.
She surveyed her own reflection in the glass sadly, and sadly went
through the practised, mechanical motions of her dressing; smoothing
the back of her irreproachable coat, arranging her delicate laces with a
deftness no indifference could impair. Yesterday she had had delight in
that new garment and in her own appearance. She knew that Majendie
admired her for her distinction and refinement. Now she wondered
what he could have seen in her--after Lady Cayley. At Lady Cayley's
personality she had not permitted herself so much as to guess. Enough
that the woman was notorious--infamous.
There was a knock at the door, the low knock she had come to know,
and Majendie entered in obedience to her faint call.
The hours had changed him, given his bright face a tragic, submissive
look, as of a man whipped and hounded to her feet.
He glanced first at the tray, to see if she had eaten her breakfast.
"There are some things I should like to say to you, with your
permission. But I think we can discuss them better out of doors."

He looked round the disordered room. The associations of the place
were evidently as painful to him as they were to her.
They went out. The parade was deserted at that early hour, and they
found an empty seat at the far end of it.
"I, too," she said, "have things that I should like to say."
He looked at her gravely.
"Will you allow me to say mine first?"
"Certainly; but I warn you, they will make no difference."
"To you, possibly not. They make all the difference to me. I'm not
going to attempt to defend myself. I can see the whole thing from your
point of view. I've been thinking it over. Didn't you say that what you
heard you had not heard from Edith?"
"From Edith? Never!"
"When did you hear it, then?"
"Yesterday afternoon."
"From some one in the hotel?"
"Yes."
"From whom? Not that it matters."
"From those women who came yesterday. I didn't know whom they
were talking about. They were talking quite loud. They didn't know
who I was."
"You say you didn't know whom they were talking about?"
"Not at first--not till you came in. Then I knew."

"I see. That was the first time you had heard of it?"
Her lips parted in assent, but her voice died under the torture.
"Then," he said, "I am profoundly sorry. If I had realised that, I would
not have spoken to you as I did."
The memory of it stung her.
"That," she said, "was--in any circumstances--unpardonable."
"I know it was. And I repeat, I am profoundly sorry. But, you see, I
thought you knew all the time, and that you had consented to forget it.
And I thought, don't you know, it was--well, rather hard on me to have
it all raked up again like that. Now I see how very hard it was on you,
dear. Your not knowing makes all the difference."
"It does indeed. If I had known----"
"I understand. You wouldn't have married me?"
"I should not."
"Dear--do you suppose I didn't know that?"
"I know nothing."
"Do you remember the day I asked you why you cared for me, and you
said it was because you knew I was good?"
Her lip trembled.
"And of course I know it's been an awful shock to you to discover
that--I--was not so good."
She turned away her face.
"But I never meant you to discover it. Not for yourself, like this. I
couldn't have forgiven myself--after what you told me. I meant to have

told you myself--that evening--but my poor little sister promised me
that she would. She said it would be easier for you to hear it from her.
Of course I believed her. There were things she could say that I
couldn't."
"She never said a word."
"Are you sure?"
"Perfectly. Except--yes--she did say----"
It was coming back to her now.
"Do you mind telling me exactly what she said?"
"N--no. She made me promise that if I ever found things in you that I
didn't understand, or that I didn't like----"
"Well--what did she make you promise?"
"That I wouldn't be hard on you. Because, she said, you'd had such a
miserable life."
"Poor Edith! So that was the nearest she could get to it. Things you
didn't understand and didn't like!"
"I didn't know what she meant."
"Of course you didn't. Who could? But I'm sorry to say that