"I know. You've made something superhuman of her. Well, Sir Oliver hasn't." "I won't believe it of her!" The burden of grief and desolation in his voice made Judith gentle and tender again. "Oh, I know you won't, my dear," she said, "unless you absolutely have to, absolutely must." She got up and whistled to recall her dog, which had strayed into the wood. "I must go back, or I shall be late for dinner. Are you coming, Arthur?" "Oh, there's plenty of time. I must think what to do." She turned away with a shrug of her shoulders. What could he do? What could anybody? Things must happen as they would--for good or evil as they would. Things were likely to happen now, and that quickly. At the very moment when Arthur came upon them in Bernadette's room, Oliver had been telling her of his completed plan. The yacht would be round to Southampton by the following Tuesday. They would motor over--it was within a drive of moderate length from Hilsey--go on board, and set sail over summer seas. She had turned from that vision to meet Arthur's startled eyes; hence her momentary confusion. But she was over it now. While they drank their tea, Oliver well-nigh persuaded her that it had never existed--never, at least, been visible. And besides, "What does it matter what he thinks?" Oliver urged. To this Bernadette would not quite agree. "I don't want him to--to have any idea of it till--till the time comes," she said fretfully. "I don't want anybody to have any idea till then--least of all Arthur." "Well, it's not for long, and we'll be very careful," he said with a laugh. "Yes, you promised me that when I let you come back here," she reminded him eagerly. "I know. I'll keep my word." He looked into her eyes as he repeated, "It's not for long." If Oliver Wyse had not inspired her with a great passion--a thing that no man perhaps could create from what there was to work on in her soul--he had achieved an almost complete domination over her. He had made his standards hers, his judgments the rule and measure of her actions and thoughts. She saw through his eyes, and gave to things and people much the dimensions that he did, the importance or the unimportance. At his bidding she turned her back on her old life and looked forward--forward only. But to one thing she clung tenaciously. She had made up her mind to the crash and upheaval at Hilsey, but she had no idea of its happening while she was there; she meant to give--to risk giving--no occasion for that. Her ears should not hear nor her eyes see the fall of the structure. No sight of it, scarcely a rumbling echo, need reach her as she sailed the summer seas. Oliver himself had insisted on the great plunge, the great break; so much benefit she was entitled to get out of it. "And be specially careful about Arthur," she urged. "Not even the slightest risk another time!" "Confound Arthur!" he laughed good-humouredly. "Why does that boy matter so much?"