At last she mastered them sufficiently to risk speech. "What _have_ I done that you should treat me--like this?" There was more of bewilderment than of reproach in the words, and Desmond, turning his head, saw the white marks made by his own fingers upon the hand that hung at her side. "Done?" he echoed, all constraint and coldness gone from his voice. "You have simply proved yourself, for the hundredth time--the staunchest, most long-suffering woman on God's earth. Will you forgive me, Honor? Will you wipe out what I said--and did just now? I am not quite--myself to-day; if one dare proffer an excuse. Mackay is right, we can't do without you--Evelyn least of any. Will you believe that, and stay with us, in spite of all?" He proffered his hand now, and she gave him the one that still tingled from his pressure. He held it quietly, closely, as the hand of a friend, and was rewarded by her frank return of his grasp. "Of course I will stay," she said simply. "But don't let there be any talk of forgiveness between you and me, Theo. To understand is to forgive. I confess I _have_ been puzzled since--yesterday evening, but now I think we do understand one another again. Isn't that so?" "Yes; we understand one another, Honor," he answered without a shadow of hesitation; but in his heart he thanked God that she did not understand--nor ever would, to her life's end. Relief reawakened the practical element, which had been submerged in the emotional. She was watching him now with the eyes of a nurse rather than the eyes of a woman. When he had spoken, his arm fell limply; and he leaned back upon the pillows with a sigh of such utter weariness that her anxiety was aroused. She remembered that his hand had seemed unnaturally hot, and deliberately taking possession of it again, laid her fingers on his wrist. The rapidity of his pulse startled her; since she could have no suspicion of all that he had fought against and held in check. "How _is_ one to keep such a piece of quicksilver as you in a state of placid stodge!" she murmured. "I suppose I ought to have forbidden you to talk. But how could I dream that--all this would come of it? You must lie absolutely quiet and see no one for the rest of the evening. I will send at once for Dr Mackay; and, look, your tea is all cold. You shall have some fresh--very weak--it will do you good. But not another word, please, to me or any one till I give you leave." "Very well; I'll do my best to remain in a state of placid stodge, if that will ease your mind," he answered so humbly that the tears started to her eyes afresh. "Won't you let me smoke, though? Just one cigarette. It would calm me down finely before Mackay comes." Without answering she took one from his case and gave it to him. Then, striking a match, held it for him, till the wisp of paper and tobacco was well alight; while he lay back, drawing in the fragrant smoke, with a sigh in which contentment and despair were strangely mingled.