Once again the tone, reckless and defiant, struck harshly on her ear. He continued, "I was saying you did not seem to see the position. You and I were very good friends once upon a time, and got on very well together; but that would never do now." She turned faint, sick, and closed her eyes; but remained silent. "Wouldn't do a bit," he continued. "You know Ive been a tremendous cropper--must have thought deuced badly of me for cutting off in that way; but it was my only chance, by Jove; and now Ive come back to try and make all square. But I must keep deuced quiet and mind my p's and q's, or I shall go to grief again, like a bird." She waited for a moment, and then she said faintly and slowly, "I understand you thoroughly now. You mean that it would be better for us to remain apart for some time yet?" "For some time?--yes. Confound it all, Margaret!--you won't take a hint, and you make a fellow speak out and seem cruel and unkind, and all that kind of thing, that he does not want to. Look here. You ought never to have come here at all. It's impossible we can ever meet again." She started convulsively; but even then she seemed unable to grasp the truth. Her earnestness brought the colour flying to her cheeks as she said hurriedly, "Why impossible, Lionel,--why impossible? If you are in trouble, who has such a right to be near you as I? If you want assistance and solace, who should give it you before me? That is the mistake you made, Lionel. When you were in your last trouble you should have confided in me: my woman's wit might have helped you through it; or at the worst, my woman's love would have consoled you in it." She was creeping closer to him, but stopped as she saw his face darken and his arms clasp themselves across his breast. "D--n it all!" said he petulantly; "you won't understand, I think. This sort of thing is impossible. Any sort of love, or friendship, or trust is impossible. Ive come back to set myself straight, and to pull out of all the infernal scrapes I got myself into before I left; and there's only one way to do it." "And that is--" "Well, if you will have it, you must. And that is--by making a good marriage." She uttered a short sharp cry, followed by a prolonged wail, such as a stricken hare gives. Lionel Brakespere looked up at her; but his face never relaxed, and his arms still remained tightly folded across his breast. Then she spoke, very quietly and very sadly: "By making a good marriage! Ah! then I see it all. That is why you are annoyed at my having come to you. That is why you dread the sight of me, because it reminds you that I am in the way; reminds you of the existence of the clog round your neck that prevents your taking up this position for which you long; because it reminds you that you once sacrificed self to sentiment, and permitted yourself to be guided by love instead of ambition. That is what you mean?"