There came a light knock on the shutters of the open door which was screened with a cretonne curtain.
"Come in," he said impatiently, resenting the disturbance, and the curtain was raised to admit the diffident intruder.
It was Honor, looking very white, yet as always, brave and sweet.
"Honey!" he started to his feet deeply moved. The harshness vanished from his face which was now alight with wonderment and love. Dressed in a muslin frock and straw hat, she looked simple and fresh, and yet carried the air and distinction which had always marked her in any company. But though she smiled into his eyes there was something in her expression that forbade him to hope for any crumbs of comfort from her visit.
"Good evening," she said trying to speak in ordinary tones while the wild beating of her heart made her momentarily faint. "I came, as I wanted so much to tell you something."
He gave her his seat and leaned against the table looking down at her. "I think I know why you have come. Not on your own account,—that would be impossible to you,—but it is on some dear, quixotic errand for another. You have come straight from—Mrs. Dalton." He could not bring himself to say, "my wife."
Honor bent her head, looking distressed. Her mission was becoming more difficult than she had anticipated.
"Honey," he said reproachfully, "don't you think I have done enough?"
"There is a little more you could do," she returned, lifting pleading eyes to his face.
"For her? Do you think she deserves the half of the consideration she has received? Other women who have sinned against the law and every code of honour have been regarded as outcasts from society. Honest women bar their doors to such as she. I cannot bear to see you with her!—a girl like you cannot understand—I cannot explain"—he broke off with a gesture of impatience and helplessness.