Whenever she and Fergusson had met, she had been conscious of her own power over him, conscious also that something was holding him back. And now, as it seemed to her, Christina had given her the clue, to what had often sorely puzzled her. Her own outlook upon life was an eminently simple one, and she had never dreamed that her rank or wealth could make a bar to the friendship, and the something deeper than friendship, of such a man as Denis Fergusson. Christina's words had given her food for thought, and they had also brought her face to face with the knowledge of herself, and of all that Denis was beginning to mean to her. He possessed that same steadfast quality which had been one of her husband's noblest characteristics, and the one perhaps that had made the chief appeal to her more yielding nature. And Fergusson's cheery strength and unfailing optimism, had gone far also towards drawing her to him. But instinctively she had been aware of a barrier between them, of something which he was rearing up against her, and though the instinctive knowledge of the barrier had wounded and puzzled her, it was only now, with Christina's words ringing in her ears, that she understood the meaning of all the puzzle. The doctor was a poor man, or at any rate comparatively poor, whilst she had more than enough and to spare of this world's goods, and a title into the bargain; and because the man was proud as well as poor, he had erected that barrier, of which she had been confusedly conscious. Well! Christina--straightforward Christina, with her almost boyish love for all that was most natural, most frank and simple--had said, "I would not let his pride spoil his life, and mine. If he was too proud to ask me, then I should ask him!" "But"--Cicely rose from her chair, and crossed the room to the window--"but, of course, any such step as that was out of the question for her--impossible and out of the question. She could never overcome her pride, to such an extent as that--never!" "Dr. Fergusson has called, my lady, and desired me to say that if you were disengaged, he would be very glad if he could see you for a few minutes." James, the footman, stood in the doorway, and even upon James's slow intelligence, it dawned that his mistress looked unusually lovely, and unusually young. But his dense mind did not especially connect the youth or loveliness with anything or anybody; he only dimly saw and wondered, whilst for the fraction of a second Cicely hesitated. Should she order James to bring the doctor up to the boudoir--to this dainty room in which she made a point of only receiving those who were her most intimate friends? Or should she go down to the drawing-room, and receive him as she received acquaintances? The two questions revolved in her mind, and they were quickly answered.