Reginald’s revelations were followed by a long silence, interrupted only by the officiousness of the waiter. The spell once broken, they exchanged a number of more or less irrelevant observations. Ethel’s mind returned, again and again, to the word he had not spoken. He had said nothing of the immediate bearing of his monstrous power upon her own life and that of Ernest Fielding.

At last, somewhat timidly, she approached the subject.

“You said you loved me,” she remarked.

“I did.”

“But why, then — ”

“I could not help it.”

“Did you ever make the slightest attempt?”