an like the
others, and she loved. Her unique position in society, her carefully
studied life, her lofty ambitions, were like vain things crumbling into
dust before her eyes. A year of cold misery seemed atoned for by the
simple fact that within a few yards of her he sat writing--that within a
few minutes he would be by her side. Of the future she scarcely thought.
Hers was the woman's love, content with small things. Its passion was of
the soul, and its song was self-sacrifice. But if she had known--if she
had only known!

He came out to her soon. His manner was quiet and a little grave.
Self-control came easier to him because the truth had been with him
longer. Nevertheless, he was not wholly at his ease.

"You know what has happened?" she asked, smiling. "The Redfords have
taken Mrs. Mannering and her daughter motoring, and Sir Leslie and Clara
have gone to the golf links. You and I are left to entertain one
another."

"What would you like to do?" he asked, simply.

"I should like to walk," she answered, "down by the sea somewhere. I am
ready now."

They made their way through the little town, along the promenade and on
to the sands beyond. Then a climb, and they found themselves in a thick
wood stretching back inland from the sea. She pointed to a fallen trunk.

"Let us sit down," she said. "There are so many things I want to ask
you."

On the way they had spoken only of indifferent matters, yet from the
first Mannering had felt the presence of a subtle something in her
deportment towards him, for which he could find no explanation. He
himself was feeling the tension of this meeting. He had expected to find
her so different. Gracious, perhaps, because she was a great lady, but
certainly without any of these suggestions of something kept back, which
continually, without any sort of direct expression, made themselves felt.
And when they sat down she said nothing. He had the feeling that it was
because she dared not trust herself to speak. Surprise and agitation kept
him, too, silent.

At last she spoke. Her voice was not very steady, and she avoided looking
at him.

"I should like," she said, "to have you tell me about yourself--about
your life--and your work."

"It is told in a few words," he answered. "Somewhere, somehow, I have
failed! I could not adopt the Birmingham programme, I could not oppose
it. You know what isolation means politically?--abuse from one side and
contempt from the other. That is