uickly, holding each wrist in turn, and together they looked at the
broad band of gold. Their eyes met in a pain beyond the reach of words.

She bowed her head, but not in shame.

"My hat, too," she said, and he found the pins and took it from her.

"Your ring is here," she said, and touched herself. Her lips trembled.
"I can't go back."

"You need not, dearest one. Sit down. I must go and speak to Mary."

"She is better than Eliza," Helen said when he returned.

"Yes, better than Eliza." He spoke soothingly. "Are you comfortable
there? Tell me about it, dear." He folded his arms and leaned against
his desk, and as he watched her he saw the look of strain pass from her
face.

She smiled at him. "Your cheeks are twitching."

"Are they?"

"They always do when you think hard."

"You are sitting where you sat when you first came here."

"And there were no cakes."

"Only buns."

"And they were stale."

"You said you liked them."

"I liked--everything--that day."

"I think," he said, jerking his chin upwards, "we won't have any
reminiscences."

"Why not?" she asked softly. She went to him and put her arms round his
neck. "It's no good, Zebedee. I've tried. I really loved him--but it's
you--I belong to you." He could hardly hear what she said. "Can you love
me any longer? I've been--his. I've liked it. I was ready to do
anything--like that--for him."

"Speak a little louder, dear."

"You see, one could forget. And I did think about children, Zebedee, I
couldn't help it."

"Precious, of course you couldn't."

"But you were always mine. And when I saw you this afternoon, there was
no one else. And no one else can have you. You don't love any one but
me. How could you? She can't have you. I want you. And you're mine. Your
hands--and eyes--and face--this cheek--You--you--I can't--I don't know
what I'm saying. I can't go back! He'll--he put this ring on me today. I
let him. I was glad--somehow. Glad!" She broke away from him and burst
into a fit of weeping.

He knew the properties of her tears, and he had no hope of any gain but
what could come to him by way of her renewed serenity; he made shift to
be content with that, and though the sound of her crying hurt him
violently, he smiled at her insistence on possessing him. She had
married another man, but she would not resign her rights to the one she
had deserted, though he, poor soul, must claim none. It was one of the
inconsistencies he loved in her,