r child," she protested, "what can I do? Mr. Mannering won't
come near me. He won't even write to me. I can't take him by storm, can
I?"

"He is so foolish," Hester said, also smiling. "He will not understand
how unimportant all other things are when two people care for one
another. He talks about the difference in your politics, as though that
were sufficient to keep you apart!"

Berenice was silent for a moment.

"There was a time," she said, softly, "when I thought so, too."

"Exactly!" Hester declared. "And he doesn't know, of course, that you
don't think so now."

Berenice smiled slightly.

"You must remember, dear," she said, "that Mr. Mannering and I are in
rather a peculiar position. My great-grandfather, my father and my uncle
were all Prime Ministers of England, and they were all staunch Liberals.
My family has always taken its politics very seriously indeed, and so
have I. It is not a little thing, this, after all."

"But you will do it!" Hester exclaimed. "I am sure that you will."

Berenice rose to her feet. A sense of excitement was suddenly quivering
in her veins, her heart was beating fiercely. After all, this child
was wise. She had been drifting into the dull, passionless life of a
middle-aged woman. All the joys of youth seemed suddenly to be sweeping
up from her heart, mocking the serenity of her days, these stagnant days,
sheltered from the great winds of life, where the waves were ripples and
the hours changeless. She raised her arms for a moment and dropped them
to her side.

"Oh, I do not know!" she cried. "It is such an upheaval. If he were
here--if he asked me himself. But he will never come now."

"I believe that he would come to-morrow," Hester said, "if he were
sure--"

Berenice laughed softly. There was colour in her cheeks as she turned to
Hester.

"Tell him to come and have tea with me to-morrow afternoon," she said. "I
shall be quite alone."

* * * * *

Hester felt all her confidence slipping away from her. The echoes of her
breathless, passionate words had scarcely died away, and Mannering, to
all appearance, was unmoved. His still, cold face showed no signs of
agitation, his dark, beringed eyes were full of nothing but an intense
weariness.

"Do I understand, Hester," he asked, "that you have been to see the
Duchess?--that you have spoken of these things to her?"

Her heart sank. His tone was almost censorious. Nevertheless, she stood