"I will remember that you have allowed him to come into this drawing-room, and treated him as a guest," said Winnington coldly. "But why, Miss Delia, are you so careful about this man's feelings? And is it still impossible that you should meet my wishes--and refuse to see him again?" She shook her head--mutely. "You intend--to see him again?" "You forget--that we have--business together." Winnington paused a moment, then came nearer to the chair on which she had dropped. "This last week--we have been very good friends--haven't we, Miss Delia?" "Call me Delia, please!" "Delia, then!--we have come to understand each other much better--haven't we?" She made a drooping sign of assent. "_Can't_ I persuade you--to be guided by me--as your father wished--during these next years of your life? I don't ask you to give up your convictions--your ideals. We should all be poor creatures without them! But I do ask you to give up these violent and illegal methods--this violent and illegal Society--with which you have become entangled. It will ruin your life, and poison your whole nature!--unless you can shake yourself free. Work for the Suffrage as much as you like--but work for it honourably--and lawfully. I ask you--I beg of you!--to give up these associates--and these methods." The tenderness and gravity of his tone touched the girl's quivering senses almost unbearably. It was like the tenderness of a woman. She felt a wild impulse to throw herself into his arms, and weep. But instead she grew very white and still. "I can't!"--was all she said, her eyes on the ground. Winnington turned away. Suddenly--a sound of hasty steps in the hall outside--and the door was opened by a nurse, in uniform. "Miss Blanchflower!--can you come?" Delia sprang up. She and the nurse disappeared together. * * * * * Winnington guessed what had happened. Weston who was to face a frightful operation on the morrow as the only chance of saving her life, had on the whole gone through the fortnight of preparatory treatment with wonderful courage. But during the last forty-eight hours, there had been attacks of crying and excitement, connected with the making of her will, which she had insisted on doing, being herself convinced that she would die under the knife. Medically, all such agitation was disastrous. But the only person who could calm her at these moments was Delia, whom she loved. And the girl had shewn in dealing with her a marvellous patience and strength. Presently Madeleine Tonbridge came downstairs--with red eyes. She described the scene of which she had just been a witness in Weston's room. Delia, she said, choking again at the thought of it, had been "wonderful." Then she looked enquiringly at Winnington-- "You met that man going away?" He sat down beside her, unable to disguise his trouble of mind, or to resist the temptation of her sympathy and their old friendship.