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Clive.—They pin us down to what we do not really mean.—No; Hester was harsh, peremptory; that was all.’ Ardently, with a passionate tenderness, she unravelled the past, forgetting all but her need for unity. ‘And—I wish you didn’t dislike him — but what you say of Captain Ingpen is true;—I felt that, too, about his manners. I see what you see in him—although I like him so much that when you attacked him it made me angry.’

‘Of course it did,’ said Clive. ‘Of course I see why you like him.’ His weeping had ceased. He spoke with utter weariness, his head still leaning against her breast. ‘We always see alike. That’s the trouble, isn’t it?’

‘Do we? Always see alike?—Why is it the trouble, Clive?’ But, feeling a sudden stillness in him, feeling that she must not probe the avowal of his exhaustion, she said: ‘You haven’t seen the side of him that I have. He doesn’t show it easily. But he is strong and kind. There is something almost beautiful in him, Clive;—though of course he is a bad man.’

‘Bad! Darling Mummy!’ Clive actually laughed, faintly. It was like wine upon her lips to hear him. ‘What a funny Victorian word!’

‘I know. But it’s true. He has been bad, poor