"But what does it mean that you are here just now?" she persisted. "According to the newspapers you should be at Buckingham Palace to-day." "To-morrow," he corrected her. "I hired a very powerful car and motored down yesterday afternoon. I am starting back when the moon rises to-night. For these few hours I am better out of London." "But why--" she faltered. He was slowly finding himself. "I came for you, Jane," he said, "on any terms--anyhow. I came to beg for your sympathy, for some measure of your affection, to beg you to come back to Charles Street. Is it too late for me to abase myself?" Her eyes glowed across at him. She suddenly rose, came over and knelt by the side of his chair. Her arms went around his neck. "Andrew," she whispered, "I have been ashamed. I was wrong. That night--the thought of my pettiness--my foolish, selfish fears.--Oh, I was wrong! I have prayed that the time might come when I could tell you. And if you hadn't come, I never could have told you. I couldn't have written. I couldn't have come to London. But I wanted you to know." She drew his head down and kissed him upon the lips. Tallente knew then why he had come. The whole orchestra of life was playing again. He was strong enough to overcome mountains. "Andrew," she faltered, "you really--" He stopped her. "Jane," he said, "I have some stupid news. It seems to me incredibly stupid. Let me pass it on to you quickly. You knew, didn't you, that I was married in America? Well, my wife has divorced me there. We married in a State where such things are possible." "Divorced you?" she exclaimed. "Quite legally," he went on. "I saw a lawyer before I started yesterday morning. But listen to the rest of it. Stella is married--married to the man I thought I had thrown over the cliff. She is married to Anthony Palliser." "Then you are free?" Jane murmured, drawing a little away. "Not in the least," he replied. "I am engaged to marry you." At luncheon, with Parkins in attendance, it became possible for them to converse coherently. "When I found you at home in the middle of the morning," he said, "I was afraid that you were Ill." "I haven't been well," she admitted. "I rode some distance yesterday and it fatigued me. Somehow or other, I think I have had the feeling, the last few weeks, that my work here is over. All my farms are sold. I have really now no means of occupying my time." "It is fortunate," he told her, with a smile, "that I am able to point out to you a new sphere of usefulness." She made a little grimace at him behind Parkins' august back. "Tell me," she asked, "how did you ever make your peace with the trades unions after that terrible article of yours?"