mile persisted. "Haven't we proved that it
isn't?--for us, at any rate. Hesitation to use our freedom in the future
would only stultify our action in the past. If we go in for an
institution with qualities of opera bouffe isn't it well to do it
light-heartedly?--or as light-heartedly as we can."

Edith looked at him reproachfully. "Should you be doing it
light-heartedly?"

"I said as light-heartedly as we can."

"What makes you think that Chip and I--I mean," she corrected, with some
confusion, "Mr. Walker and I--want to do it at all?"

"Isn't that rather evident?"

"I didn't know it was."

Chip glanced at them over his shoulder. It seemed to him that Lacon's
look was one of pity.

"You met in England," the latter said, displaying a hesitation unusual
in him, "with something--something more than pleasure, as I judge;
and--and Mr. Walker is here."

"Yes, by accident," she declared, hurriedly. "It was by accident in
England, too."

He lifted his fine white hand in protest. "Oh, I'm not blaming you. On
the contrary, nothing could be more natural than that you should both
feel as I--I imagine you do. You're the wife of his youth--he's the
husband of yours. The best things you've ever had in your two lives are
those you've had in common. That you should want to bridge over the
past, and, if possible, go back--"

"We've burned our bridges," she interrupted, quickly.

"Even burned bridges can be rebuilt if there's the will to do it. The
whole question turns on the will. If you have that I want you to
understand that I shall not be--be an obstacle to the--to the
reconstruction."

"Don't you _care_?"

"That's not the question. We've already assumed the fact that my
caring--as well as that of a certain other person whom Mr. Walker would
have to consider--is secondary. It's too late to do anything for
us--assuming that she understands, or may come to understand, the
position as I do. Your refusing happiness for yourselves in order to
stand by us, or even to stand by the children--the younger children, I
mean--wouldn't do us any good. On the contrary, as far as I'm concerned,
if there could be any such thing as mitigation--"

He broke off. Seeing the immobile features swept as by convulsion, Chip
took up the sentence: "It would be that Edith should feel free."

"Precisely."

"And her not feeling free would involve the continuance of--the
penalty."

"In its extreme form." He regained control of himself. "That