“It is true,” she said; “it is what I wanted to tell you today, when we were talking in your room. My only secret when I opened my heart to him at Limmeridge was a harmless secret, Marian⁠—you said so yourself. The name was all I kept from him, and he has discovered it.”

I heard her, but I could say nothing. Her last words had killed the little hope that still lived in me.

“It happened at Rome,” she went on, as wearily calm and cold as ever. “We were at a little party given to the English by some friends of Sir Percival’s⁠—

Mr.