table nearest the fire. Tess’s face and neck reflected the same warmth, which each gem turned into an Aldebaran or a Sirius—a constellation of white, red, and green flashes, that interchanged their hues with her every pulsation.
‘Do you remember what we said to each other this morning about telling our faults?’ he asked abruptly, finding that she still remained immovable. ‘We spoke lightly perhaps, and you may well have done so. But for me it was no light promise. I want to make a confession to you, Love.’
This, from him, so unexpectedly apposite, had the effect upon her of a Providential interposition.
‘You have to confess something?’ she said quickly, and even with gladness and relief.
‘You did not expect it? Ah—you thought too highly of me. Now listen. Put your head there, because I want you to forgive me, and not to be indignant with me for not telling you before, as perhaps I ought to have done.’
How strange it was! He seemed to be her double. She did not speak, and Clare went on—
‘I did not mention it because I was afraid of endangering my chance of you, darling, the great
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