"Roger!--to live?" she repeated, in horror. "What is really the matter?
Surely nothing more than care and a voyage could set right?"

French shook his head.

"We have been anxious about him for some time. That terrible attack of
septic pneumonia in New York, as we now know, left the heart injured and
the lungs weakened. He was badly nursed, and his state of mind at the
time--his misery and loneliness--left him little chance. Then the
drinking habit, which he contracted during those wretched months in the
States, has been of course sorely against him. However, we hoped against
hope--Elsie and I--till a few weeks ago. Then someone, we don't know
who, made him go to a specialist, and the verdict is--phthisis; not very
advanced, but certain and definite. And the general outlook is not
favourable."

Daphne had grown pale.

"We must send him away!" she said imperiously. "We must! A voyage, a
good doctor, a dry climate, would save him, of course they would! Why,
there is nothing necessarily fatal now in phthisis! Nothing! It is
absurd to talk as though there were."

Again French looked at her in silence. But as she had lost colour, he
had gained it. His face, which the East End had already stamped, had
grown rosy, his eyes sparkled.

"Oh, do say something! Tell me what you suggest?" cried Daphne.

"Do you really wish me to tell you what I suggest?"

Daphne waited, her eyes first imploring, then beginning to shrink. He
bent forward and touched her on the arm.

"Go, Mrs. Barnes, and ask your husband's forgiveness! What will come of
it I do not know. But you, at least, will have done something to set
yourself right--with God."

The Christian and the priest had spoken; the low voice in its intensity
had seemed to ring through the quiet sun-flooded room. Daphne rose,
trembling with resentment and antagonism.

"It is you, then, Mr. French, who make it impossible for me to
discuss--to help. I shall have to see if I can find some other means of
carrying out my purpose."

There was a voice outside. Daphne turned.

"Who is that?"

French ran to the glass door that opened on the veranda, and trying for
an ordinary tone, waved somebody back who was approaching from without.
Elsie came quickly round the corner of the house, calling to the
new-comer.

But Daphne saw who it was and took her own course. She, too, went to the
window, and, passing French, she stepped into the veranda.

"Roger!"

A man hurried through the