The hours had changed him, given his bright face a tragic, submissive
look, as of a man whipped and hounded to her feet.

He glanced first at the tray, to see if she had eaten her breakfast.

"There are some things I should like to say to you, with your permission.
But I think we can discuss them better out of doors."

He looked round the disordered room. The associations of the place were
evidently as painful to him as they were to her.

They went out. The parade was deserted at that early hour, and they found
an empty seat at the far end of it.

"I, too," she said, "have things that I should like to say."

He looked at her gravely.

"Will you allow me to say mine first?"

"Certainly; but I warn you, they will make no difference."

"To you, possibly not. They make all the difference to me. I'm not going
to attempt to defend myself. I can see the whole thing from your point of
view. I've been thinking it over. Didn't you say that what you heard you
had not heard from Edith?"

"From Edith? Never!"

"When did you hear it, then?"