“Good heavens, Lillian, I forgot that you believed that. It is no woman—I have never been unfaithful to you in word or deed—that was not I whom Darrell saw at the bal masque last night, dear. I am yours, wretched man that I am, but yours alone, always.”
“But what—I don’t understand—you say you have sinned and yet that you are innocent. Oh, Joe, please tell me everything.”
“I would be a base wretch if I did not. Do you remember making me give a promise before we were married, Lillian?”
“That’s it,” eagerly; “and for a time I suffered terrible torments in keeping it to the letter; but after a while the devil tempted me. He said, ‘You promised to give up cigars—nothing was said about your pipe.’ Lillian, like a weak fool I gave in, and daily almost, for months, I have gone to the house I own in Twenty-seventh Street, changed my clothes and enjoyed half an hour’s smoke.
“It was a cruel deception on you, and I have felt like a sneak in doing it. Thanks to Darrell my eyes have been opened and I am here to confess all, asking forgiveness.”
Lillian could hardly believe her ears—she turned a face illumined upon her husband. “Joe, dear Joe, is this your dreadful secret?”
“It is,” solemnly.
“You are sure you have told me everything?”
“There is not another thing I have ever kept from you, my darling.”