"And I am still more in earnest in telling you that I will give you no opinion, no help. I forbid you to recur to the subject." He was silent, unable to drop his eyes from hers. "But for her," continued Mrs. Bowen, "I will do anything in my power. If she asks my advice I will give it, and I will give her all the help I can." "Thank you," said Colville vaguely. "I will not have your thanks," promptly retorted Mrs. Bowen, "for I mean you no kindness. I am trying to do my duty to Imogene, and when that is ended, all is ended. There is no way now for you to please me--as you call it--except to keep her from regretting what she has done." "Do you think I shall fail in that?" he demanded indignantly. "I can offer you no opinion. I can't tell what you will do." "There are two ways of keeping her from regretting what she has done; and perhaps the simplest and best way would be to free her from the consequences, as far as they're involved in me," said Colville. Mrs. Bowen dropped herself back in her armchair. "If you choose to force these things upon me, I am a woman, and can't help myself. Especially, I can't help myself against a guest." "Oh, I will relieve you of my presence," said Colville. "I've no wish to force anything upon you--least of all myself." He rose, and moved toward the door. She hastily intercepted him. "Do you think I will let you go without seeing Imogene? Do you understand me so little as that? It's _too late_ for you to go! You know what I think of all this, and I know, better than you, what you think. I shall play my part, and you shall play yours. I have refused to give you advice or help, and I never shall do it. But I know what my duty to her is, and I will fulfil it. No matter how distasteful it is to either of us, you must come here as before. The house is as free to you as ever--freer. And we are to be as good friends as ever--better. You can see Imogene alone or in my presence, and, as far as I am concerned, you shall consider yourself engaged or not, as you choose. Do you understand?" "Not in the least," said Colville, in the ghost of his old bantering manner. "But don't explain, or I shall make still less of it." "I mean simply that I do it for Imogene and not for you." "Oh, I understand that you don't do it for me." At this moment Imogene appeared between the folds of the _portiere_, and her timid, embarrassed glance from Mrs. Bowen to Colville was the first gleam of consolation that had visited him since he parted with her the night before. A thrill of inexplicable pride and fondness passed through his heart, and even the compunction that followed could not spoil its sweetness. But if Mrs. Bowen discreetly turned her head aside that she need not witness a tender greeting between them, the precaution was unnecessary. He merely went forward and took the girl's hand, with a sigh of relief. "Good morning, Imogene," he said, with a kind of compassionate admiration.