 his own peril. I don't like this
kind of thing. Perhaps he has audacity enough to face out any disclosure. But
it's out of the question for you and me to nurse his secret. We have no right to
do so.«
    »You propose to denounce him?«
    Marcella gazed at her brother with an agitated look.
    »Not denounce. I am fond of Peak; I wish him well. But I can't join him in a
dishonourable plot. - Then, we mustn't endanger our place in society.«
    »I have no place in society,« Marcella answered, coldly.
    »Don't say that, and don't think it. We are both going to make more of our
lives; we are going to think very little of the past, and a great deal of the
future. We are still young; we have happiness before us.«
    »We?« she asked, with shaken voice.
    »Yes - both of us! Who can say« -
    Again he took her hand and pressed it warmly in both his own. Just then the
door opened, and dinner was announced. Christian talked on, in low hurried
tones, for several minutes, affectionately, encouragingly. After dinner, he
wished to resume the subject, but Marcella declared that there was no more to be
said; he must act as honour and discretion bade him; for herself, she should
simply keep silence as hitherto. And she left him to his reflections.
    Though with so little of ascertained fact to guide her, Marcella interpreted
the hints afforded by her slight knowledge of the Warricombes with singular
accuracy. Precisely as she had imagined, Buckland Warricombe was going about on
Peak's track, learning all he could concerning the theological student, forming
acquaintance with anyone likely to supplement his discoveries. And less than a
fortnight after the meeting at the theatre, Christian made known to his sister
that Warricombe and he had had a second conversation, this time uninterrupted.
    »He inquired after you, Marcella, and - really I had no choice but to ask
him to call here. I hardly think he'll come. He's not the kind of man I care for
- though liberal enough, and all that.«
    »Wasn't it rather rash to give that invitation?«
    »The fact was, I so dreaded the appearance of - of seeming to avoid him,«
Christian pleaded, awkwardly. »You know, that affair - we won't talk any more of
it; but, if
