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dragging line in her cheek deepened. ‘What Clive told you? What has Clive got to do with it?’ she questioned haughtily.

‘Why—he has everything to do with it. He found me very much upset; and he was upset, too. He was as much at sea as I was really—to account for your temper, though he felt sure that I misunderstood you;—but when I told him that Captain Ingpen was there, everything became clear. Your dislike of him—because of the past—was so intense.’

Ah. That did draw the blood! Not a shred of doubt—or of hope—survived in Monica as she seemed to see it trickle, as though from a dagger blow. This was to taste, in one sharp moment, knowledge and hatred and vengeance. For Hester was white to the lips. White, with the gauntly circled eyes, as she stood there and as she said: ‘Because of the past? What do you mean? I don’t understand you.’

No; she did not; nor should she. Hester should be left to grope, irate, perplexed and meshed, until she tumbled into the pit dug for her.

‘Why, you had known him—very well, I suppose,’ said Monica. ‘And I suppose you had quarrelled with him, since the sight of him could dis-