The sincerity underlying his bluntness brought the blood to Honor's cheeks. "Theo has simply found—a woman who loves him," she answered softly. "A discovery most men can make if they choose; even rank heretics like you! Will you forgive me, I wonder, if I say that I believe the thing you really need, though you may not guess it, is . . . a woman in your life?"
Lenox did not answer: and they walked on for a time in silence.
"Have I vexed you?" Honor asked at length.
"No. You touched an exposed nerve. That was all. And I should like you to know the truth now; or at least part of it.—Five years ago I did take . . . a woman into my life, as you put it; and I have never known real peace or comfort since."
Honor started, and turned upon him a face of incredulity.
"Captain Lenox! Do you mean—have you actually—been married?"
"I actually am married, in the eyes of the law, at least. What's more, my wife is here, in Dalhousie, in that cursed ballroom,—with neither my name nor my ring to protect her—playing the fool for the amusement or perdition of another chap. You spoke of her a minute ago. I need hardly say more, need I?"
"No, no. I understand it all now," she murmured, deeply moved. "Then that was why you wanted to go away last month?"
"Yes."
"And I stupidly made things harder, in my blind zeal to help you?"