"I know you now," he said, his voice very low.
A ripple of laughter suddenly ran through the house, a gay voice called for three cheers, and as though a spell had been lifted the merriment burst out afresh in tune to the lilting dance-music.
Carey straightened himself slowly, still holding the slender hand in his. Her mask had gone at last, and he stood face to face with the woman of his dream--the woman whose hard-won security he had only that morning pledged himself to shatter.
"Yes; I know you. And I know your secret, too."
The words sounded stern. He was putting strong restraint upon himself.
She faced him without flinching, her look as steady as his own. And yet again it was to Carey as though he stood in the presence of a queen. She did not say a word.
"Will you believe me," he said slowly, "when I tell you that I would give all I have not to know it?"
She raised her beautiful brows for a moment, but still she said nothing.
He let her hand go. "I was on the point of searching to the world's end for you," he said. "But since I have found you here of all places, I am bound to take advantage of it. Forgive me, if you can!"
He saw a gleam of apprehension in her eyes.
"What is it you want to say to me?" she asked.
"I fancied it was you from the first. When I saw your hand at supper, I knew."
"When you have something to conceal, it is wise to avoid anyone connected with it."
She answered him very quietly, but he knew instinctively that she was fighting him with her whole strength. It was almost more than he could bear.
"Believe me," he said, "I am not a man to wantonly betray a woman's secret. I have kept yours faithfully for years. But when within the last few days I came to know who you were, and that your husband, Major Coningsby, was contemplating making a second marriage, I was in honour bound to speak."
"You told him?" She raised her eyes for a single instant, and he read in them a reproach unutterable.
His heart smote him. What had she endured, this woman, before taking that final step to cut herself off from the man whose name she had borne? But he would not yield an inch. He was goaded by pitiless necessity.
"I told him," he answered. "But I had no means of proving what I said. And he refused to believe me."