"There you go!" Tears threatened again and her voice shook. "You talk about loving me and you don't trust me any more than Theo does. If I mayn't do this my own way I won't take the money at all." "Don't talk nonsense, child," Honor cried desperately, her own self-control almost at an end. "You _must_ take it. And if you insist on running risks with your eyes open, there's no more to be said except make haste and get the wretched thing done with. Go at once, in your jhampan--and _don't_ leave it. Ask for Miss Kresney; and--shop or no shop--mind you get a proper receipt. Then come straight home and tell Theo you will do what he wishes. He will have had time to think things over and it will be all right. I know it will. Perhaps you would like me to speak of it to him, if I get the chance?" "Yes--yes. Do, please! You dear, wonderful Honor! I don't know how to say thank you enough----" But Honor disengaged herself something hurriedly. The ache of rebellion at her heart made Evelyn's effusiveness unendurable. "Don't thank me at all," she said. "I don't want your thanks. I don't--deserve them. Take care of that envelope; it is worth more than two hundred rupees to you--and to me. Now go!" And taking her by the shoulders, she put her gently outside the door. Then, drawing a deep breath of relief, stood alone with the realisation of all that had passed. It seemed that she was not to be spared one drop of the cup of bitterness; that to her had been assigned the task of Sisyphus, the ceaseless rolling upward of a stone that as ceaselessly rolled down; the continual re-establishment of Evelyn in the shrine of her husband's heart. And there would be no end to it, even after John's return. So long as these two had need of her, heart and brain and hands would be at their service. She did not definitely think this, because true heroism is unaware of itself. "It feels, and never reasons; and therefore is always right." Honor was aware of nothing just then, but the keen pang of self-reproach. "God forgive me!" she murmured, forming the words with her lips. "I did it for _him_." Then she started, and the blood flew to her face. For Desmond's voice, imperious, entreating, rang clear through the quiet of the house. "Ladybird, where _are_ you? Come back!" And without a thought of what she intended to say, Honor went out to the completion of her day's work. That was her practical way of looking at the matter. "It will be easy enough," she reflected as she went. The entreaty in Desmond's voice assured her of that. But in the drawing-room doorway she stood still, extraordinarily still. For Desmond himself confronted her; and she had not anticipated the ordeal of a face-to-face encounter.