"And whose fault is it he's unhappy?" "And because of that he's being foolish--wasting all his money too, I'm afraid." "Oh, I've got my settlement. I shall be all right in case of proceedings." "Now pray don't think of proceedings, Lady Harriet." "Not think of them! I've made up my mind to them. I wanted to ask you how to set about it." "But it would ruin his career; it would destroy his public position." "I can't help that. He should have thought of that for himself." "And then think of the girls!" "Anything would be better than going on like this--yes, better for them too." John saw that he must face an explanation of his embassy. He got up and stood on the hearthrug. "I'm here as the friend of you both," he began. The colour and the sparkle both grew brighter. "Oh, are you?" said Lady Harriet. "It comes to this. Tom's friends--I and one or two more--have been speaking seriously to him. We've got him to say that he's ready to drop--to drop what you very properly object to--and to make another effort to find a--a _modus vivendi_." "I'm glad he's got so much decent feeling! Only it comes rather late. He wants me to forgive him, does he?" "I don't think we can put it quite so simply as that." John risked a timid smile. "There must be a give-and-take, Lady Harriet--a give-and-take, you know." "Well?" She was relapsing into that dangerous stillness of hers. She was very quiet, but her eyes shone very bright. Tom Courtland would have known the signs, so would the girls. "We've got him to say what I've told you; but there must be something from your side." "What am I to do, John?" she asked, with deceptive meekness. "Well, I think you might--well--er--express some regret that--that things haven't gone more harmoniously at home. You might hold out an olive branch, you know." "Express regret?" "Don't stand on a point of pride now. Haven't you sometimes been--well, a little exacting--a little quick-tempered?" "Oh, you're in that old story, are you? Quick-tempered? Suppose I am! Haven't I enough to make me quick-tempered?" "Yes, now you have. But what about the beginning?" "Do you mean it was my fault in the beginning?" "Don't you think so yourself? Partly, at all events?" Lady Harriet took up a tortoiseshell paper-knife and played with it. Her eyes were set hard on John, who did not like the expression in them. He became less glad that he had undertaken the embassy. "May a man desert and deceive his wife because she's a little quick-tempered?" "No, no, of course not; that's absurd." "It's what you're saying, isn't it?" "We must look at it as men and women of the world." "I look at it as a wife and a mother. Do you mean to say it was my fault in the beginning?" John was losing patience; he saw that some plain speaking would be necessary, but his want of patience made it hard for him to do the plain speaking wisely.