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question, nothing else will, and as for me, it doesn’t make much difference what Clive believes now, does it?—Perhaps I do love Godfrey best. Who knows?—Though now that I come to think of it, it may be the people who give us most to bear who are the ones we love most at the end, and Clive has certainly shown me that he can hurt as much as Godfrey ever did.—But I’m not going into that. It’s you, Monica. I see you through and through. You love Godfrey; I know it; and I know how he loves you.—He’s never loved anyone so much.—But with all the will in the world you’ll never make me believe that you are like me; nor make Clive believe it either.’

‘Perhaps, if Clive has the insight that I believe him to have,’ said Monica, gazing at her daughter-in-law, while her mind seemed to move in great flashes, ‘he will wish, more than anything, that I were.’

Clive, there beside her, had bowed his head upon his arms while Hester spoke. Now she felt that he put out his hand for hers. He found it. He laid his cheek against it and held it tightly.

‘I can go now,’ Monica murmured, glancing down at her son. ‘I can leave you now. You and Eddie see now that people who love so much cannot part.’