"It was always rather difficult for Margaret and me to get on together, even before all that's happened. We didn't make real friends. How could we now--with sort of official visits like those? Under conditions! Still, that's not the main thing; that's not what I want you to say to Godfrey. I don't mean to see her till she's old enough--fully old enough--to understand what it all means. Then, when she's heard about it--not from me, I don't want to make a case with her or to try to justify myself--when Godfrey, or Judith, or even you, have told her, I want it to be left to her what to do. If she likes to leave it alone, very good. If she likes to see me, and see if we can make friends, I shall be ready. There'll be no concealment then, no false pretences, nothing to puzzle her. Only just what sort of a view she takes of me herself, when she's old enough." She paused and then asked, "Have they told her anything yet?" "Only that you can't come back yet. But I think they mean to tell her presently that you won't, that--well, that it's all over, you know. Judith thinks she'll accept that as quite--well, that she won't see anything very extraordinary about it--won't know what it means, you see." "Do you think she misses me much?" "No, I don't think so. She and her father are becoming very great friends. I think she's happy." "You've been there a lot?" "Yes, a good deal." "I saw your mother's death in the paper. I'm sorry, Arthur." "They make me quite at home at Hilsey. They've given me a den of my own." "And Godfrey?" "He's very cheerful, with his walks and his books--and, as I say, with Margaret." "You're looking very thoughtful, Arthur. What are you thinking of? Do you think me wrong about Margaret? I shall hear of her, you know. I shall know how she's getting on; Judith will tell me--and Esther. You can too." "It's all so strange!" he broke out. "The way you've just--vanished! And yet the house goes on!" She nodded. "And goes on pretty well?" she hazarded, with raised brows and a little smile. He made a restless impatient gesture, but did not refuse assent. "Well, if there's anything to be said for me, there it is! Because it means that I was a failure." "You weren't the only failure, Bernadette." "No, I wasn't. It was all a failure--all round--except you; you got on with all of us. Well, when things are like that, and then somebody comes and--and shows you something quite different, and makes--yes, makes--you look at it--well, when once you do, you can't look at anything else. It swallows up everything." She fell into silence. Arthur moved from the mantelpiece, and sat down in a chair by her side, whence he watched her delicate profile as she gazed into the fire thoughtfully. He waited for her to go on--to take up the story from the day when the long failure came to its violent end, from the morning of her flight.