"I know that you have suffered much," he said, dropping his eyes before her, "but you would suffer infinitely more if--" "If you had not interfered." Her veil had fallen over her face again. She flung it back in impatient despair. "Mr. Delafield, I can do without your anxieties." "But not"--he spoke slowly--"without your own self-respect." Julie's face trembled. She hid it in her hands. "Go!" she said. "Go!" He went to the farther end of the ship and stood there motionless, looking towards the land but seeing nothing. On all sides the darkness was lifting, and in the distance there gleamed already the whiteness that was Dover. His whole being was shaken with that experience which comes so rarely to cumbered and superficial men--the intimate wrestle of one personality with another. It seemed to him he was not worthy of it. After some little time, when only a quarter of an hour lay between the ship and Dover pier, he went back to Julie. She was sitting perfectly still, her hands clasped in front of her, her veil drawn down. "May I say one word to you?" he said, gently. She did not speak. "It is this. What I have confessed to you to-night is, of course, buried between us. It is as though it had never been said. I have given you pain. I ask your pardon from the bottom of my heart, and, at the same time"--his voice trembled--"I thank God that I had the courage to do it!" She threw him a glance that showed her a quivering lip and the pallor of intense emotion. "I know you think you were right," she said, in a voice dull and strained, "but henceforth we can only be enemies. You have tyrannized over me in the name of standards that you revere and I reject. I can only beg you to let my life alone for the future." He said nothing. She rose, dizzily, to her feet. They were rapidly approaching the pier. [Illustration: "HER HANDS CLASPED IN FRONT OF HER"] With the cold aloofness of one who feels it more dignified to submit than to struggle, she allowed him to assist her in landing. He put her into the Victoria train, travelling himself in another carriage. As he walked beside her down the platform of Victoria Station, she said to him: "I shall be obliged if you will tell Evelyn that I have returned." "I go to her at once." She suddenly paused, and he saw that she was looking helplessly at one of the newspaper placards of the night before. First among its items appeared: "Critical state of Lord Lackington." He hardly knew how far she would allow him to have any further communication with her, but her pale exhaustion made it impossible not to offer to serve her. "It would be early to go for news now," he said, gently. "It would disturb the house. But in a couple of hours from now"--the station clock pointed to 6.15--"if you will allow me, I will leave the morning bulletin at your door." She hesitated.