The question was one that she had asked herself many times before, without daring to hear the answer; but that the answer was in her heart, though she shrank from acknowledging it, might be seen in her expression, in her every pose; it might be seen now, as she drooped by the window. She sighed, and sat down, and shivered. Yes, she knew it--she had thrown away the substance for the shadow; she could deceive herself no longer. Lucas Field was not so poetical a personality as she had imagined; guilt had no glamour; her devotion had been a flash in the pan--a madness that had burned itself out. She had no right to blame her lover for that; only, the prospect of marriage with him filled her with no elation; it inspired misgiving rather. If she had made a blunder, would it improve matters to perpetuate it? He was considerate to her, he spared her all the ignominy that was possible; but instinctively she was aware that, if they parted, he would never miss her as her husband had done. In _his_ life she would never make a hole! She guessed the depth of Heriot's love better now that she had obtained a smaller one as plummet. Between the manner of the man who was not particularly sorry to have run away with her, and his whose pride she had been, the difference was tremendous to a woman whose position was calculated to develop her natural sensitiveness to the point of a disease. Should she marry Lucas or not? Hitherto she had merely avoided the query; now she trembled before it. Expedience said, "Yes"; something within her said, "No." The decree would be made absolute in two months' time. What was to become of her if they separated? To Duluth she could never go, to be pointed at and despised! She sighed again. "Bored, dear?" asked Field, in the doorway. "I was thinking." "That was obvious. Not of your--er--work?" "No, not of my--'er--work.'" He pulled his moustache with some embarrassment. "I didn't mean anything derogatory to it." "Oh, I know," she said wearily; "don't--it doesn't matter. You can't think much less of it than I am beginning to do myself. You can't take much less interest in it." "You are unjust," said Field. "I am moped. Take me out. Take me out of myself if you can, but take me out of doors at any rate! I am yearning to be in a crowd." "We might go to a theatre to-night," he said; "would you like to?" "It doesn't amuse me very much; I don't understand what they say. Still it would be something. But I want to go out now, for a walk. I don't like walking here alone; can't you come with me?" "I'm afraid I can't. You forget I promised an interview to that paper this afternoon. I expect the fellow here any moment." "You promised it?" she exclaimed, with surprise. "Why, I thought you said that the paper was a 'rag' and that you wouldn't dream of consenting?" "After all, one must be courteous; I changed my mind. There's some talk of translating _A Clever Man's Son_ into French. An interview just now would be good policy."