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No, she had to look farther back than her honeymoon, back to the days of Burleigh Wentworth’s trial, and the almost superhuman force by which he had dragged him free. It was that force with which she would have very soon to reckon, that overwhelming, all-consuming power that had wrestled so victoriously in Wentworth’s defence. How would it be when she found herself confronted by that? She shivered and dared not think.

The stream of gaiety flowed on around her. Someone–Wentworth she knew later–proposed a game of hide-and-seek by moonlight in and about the old ruins on the shores of the loch. She would have preferred to remain behind, but he made a great point of her going also. She did not know if Percival went or not, but she did not see him among the rest. The fun was fast and furious, the excitement great. Almost in spite of herself she was drawn in.

And then, how it happened she scarcely knew, she found herself hiding alone with Wentworth in a little dark boat-house on the edge of the water. He had a key with him, and she heard him turn it on the inside.

“I think we are safe here,” he said, and then in the darkness his arms were round her. He called her by every endearing name that he could think of.

Why was it his ardour failed to reach her? She had yielded to him only that afternoon. She had suffered him to kiss away her tears. But now something in her held her back. She drew herself away.

“Come and sit in the boat!” he said. “We will go on the water as soon as the hue and cry is over. Hush! Don’t speak! They are coming now.”

They sat with bated breath while the hunt spread round their hiding-place. The water lapped mysteriously in front of them with an occasional gurgling chuckle. The ripples danced far out in the moonlight. It was a glorious night, with a keenness in the air that was like the touch of steel.

Violet drew her cloak more closely about her. She felt very cold.

Someone came and battered at the door. “I’m sure they’re here,” cried a voice.

“They can’t be,” said another. “The place is locked, and there’s no key.”

“Bet you it’s on the inside!” persisted the first, and a match was lighted and held to the lock.

The man inside laughed under his breath. The key was dangling between his hands.

“Oh, come on!” called a girl’s voice from the distance. “They wouldn’t hide in there. It’s such a dirty hole. Lady Violet is much too fastidious.”

And Violet, sitting within, drew herself together with a little shrinking movement. Yes, that had always been their word for her. She was fastidious. She had rather prided herself upon having that reputation. She had always regarded women who made themselves cheap with scorn.

The chase passed on, and Wentworth’s arm slipped round her again. “Now we are safe,” he said. “By Jove, dear, how I have schemed for this! It was really considerate of your worthy husband to absent himself.”

Again, gently but quite decidedly, she drew herself away. “I think Freda is right,” she said. “This is rather a dirty place.”

He laughed. “A regular black hole! But wait till I can get you out on to the loch! It’s romantic enough out there. But look here, Violet! I’ve got to come to an understanding with you. Now that we’ve found each other, darling, we are not going to lose each other again, are we?”

She was silent in the darkness.

He leaned to her and took her hand. “Oh, why did you go and complicate matters by getting married?” he said. “It was such an obvious–such a fatal–mistake. You knew I cared for you, didn’t you?”

“You–had never told me so,” she said, her voice very low.

“Never told you! I tried to tell you every time we met. But you were always so aloof, so frigid. On my soul, I was afraid to speak. Tell me now!” His hand was fast about hers. “When did you begin to care?”