"Yes," said Morena slowly. "She was my Betty all the time." He gave

her a twisted smile and put the two papers carefully into an inside

pocket. "I am going to keep this letter, Jane. Truly the ways of the

Lord are past finding out."

Joan looked at him in growing uneasiness. Her mind, never quick to

take in all the bearings and the consequences of her acts, was

beginning to work. "What are you going to do with it, Mr. Morena? I

don't want you to do Betty a hurt. She must have loved Prosper Gael.

Perhaps she still loves him."

This odd appeal drew another difficult smile from Betty's husband.

"Quite obviously she still loves him, Jane. She is divorcing me so

that she can marry him."

"But, Mr. Morena, I don't believe he will marry her now. He is tired

of her. He is that kind of lover. He gets tired. Now he would like to

marry me. He told me so. Perhaps--if Betty knew that--she might come

back to you, without your branding her."

Jasper was startled out of his vengeful stillness.

"Prosper Gael wants to marry you? He has told you so?"

"Yes." She was sad and humbled. "Now he wants to marry me and once

he told me things about marrying. He said"--Joan quoted slowly, her

eyes half-closed in Prosper's manner, her voice a musical echo of his

thin, vibrant tone--"'It's man's most studied insult to woman.'"

"Yes. That's Prosper," murmured Jasper.

"I wouldn't marry him, Mr. Morena, even if I could--not if I were to

be--burnt for refusing him."

Jasper looked probingly at her, a new speculation in his eyes. She had

begun to fit definitely into his plans. It seemed there might be a way

to frustrate Betty and to keep a hold upon his valuable protégée.

"Are you so sure of that, Jane?"

"Ah!" she answered; "you doubt it because I once thought I loved him?

But you don't know all about me...."

He stood silent, busy with his weaving. At last he looked at her

rather blankly, impersonally. Joan was conscious of a frightened,

lonely chill. She put out her hand uncertainly, a wrinkle appearing

sharp and deep between her eyes.

"Mr. Morena, please--I haven't any one but you. I don't understand

very well what this divorcing rightly means. Nor what they will do to

me. Will you be thinking of me a little? I wouldn't ask it, for I know

you are unhappy and bothered enough, but, you see--"




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