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by writing to tell "his lady" that he was severely wounded, but still alive———"which is a good deal in itself," the orderly hopefully ended, "not to mention his receiving the Legion of Honour."

Campton laid the letter down. There was too much to be taken in all at once; and, as usual in moments of deep disturbance, he wanted to be alone, above all wanted to be away from Julia. But Julia held him with insistent eyes.

"Do you want this?" he asked finally, pushing the letter toward her.

She recoiled. "Want it? A letter written to that woman? No! I should have returned it at once—but Anderson wouldn't let me. . . Think of her forcing herself upon me as she did—and making you paint her portrait! I see it all now. Had you any idea this was going on?"

Campton shook his head, and perceived by her look of relief that what she had resented above all was the thought of his being in a secret of George's from which she herself was excluded.

"Adele didn't know either," she said, with evident satisfaction. Campton remembered that he had been struck by Miss Anthony's look of sincerity when he had asked her if she had any idea where George had spent his last evening, and she had answered negatively. This recollection made him understand Mrs. Brant's feeling of relief.