Lord Level, up and dressed, lay on a sofa in his bedroom in the afternoon. Blanche sat on a footstool beside him. Her face was hidden upon her husband's knee and she was crying bitter tears.
"Shall you ever forgive me, Archibald?"
He was smiling quietly. "Some husbands might say no."
"You don't know how miserable I have been."
"Don't I! But how came you to fall into such notions at first, Blanche? To suspect me of ill at all?"
"It was that Mrs. Page Reid who was with us at Pisa. She said all sorts of things."
"Ah!"
"Won't you forgive me, Archibald?"
"Yes, upon condition that you trust me fully in future. Will you, love?" he softly whispered.