Jennings appeared then, and announced that the carriage was waiting to take Lady Canning for her morning drive. She sat in displeased silence, until her maid brought her bonnet and cloak. Before she left the room, she turned severely to Thurston. "I do do not wish to see you again until you tell me you have abandoned this fool-hardy, heartless idea, for good and all." She took Indiana in her arms. "My darling, forgive him, for my sake." "I will, dear Lady Canning," said Indiana, angelically. "I—it’s very weak, I know, but I couldn’t be angry with him—no matter what he did." Thurston stared at her, aghast at such hypocrisy. Indiana led Lady Canning out into the hall. "Don’t worry," she whispered, as Jennings held the door open for her to pass to the carriage. "It will be all right, I’ll manage him." When she returned to the library, Thurston was staring into the fire. She approached quietly, and he raised his eyes, to see her standing meekly before him, her hands clasped in a childish fashion. "You have played your part well," he said, bitterly. Indiana raised her eyes supplicatingly, then dropped them again. "I wasn’t acting," she said, innocently. "It’s well that you can be so light-hearted, when I am suffering tortures," he continued, with an involuntary burst of grief and bitterness. "No, no, I was acting—but I felt the part. I do love everybody, and I want to be good again and make up." "Cease playing the spoilt child," said Thurston, wearily. "Last night’s performance can never be repeated under my roof—never shall be. You can tell your own story. Paint me the brutal husband—the tyrant. I shall not contradict you. I am resolved upon one thing—to leave England." He stared hopelessly into the fire again, leaning his forehead on the mantel. "I suppose it’s no use—asking you—to—forgive me," she said, watching him sharply. He turned quickly, and she dropped her eyes. "If—if there won’t be a repetition," she continued, her lips quivering like those of a child on the verge of tears. "You cannot change your nature," he replied, coldly, not allowing himself to believe in the sincerity of this contrition. [Illustration: "I will have love to help me."] "No, and that’s why you’re very wrong in being so hard with me. I was good, wasn’t I? For three months and then, when the folks rushed down on me, like a river breaking a dam, I broke out—that’s all." She raised her arms, with a long, despairing sigh. "Thurston, if you will go away, may I stay with your mother?"