"You mean," said Lady Mary sadly, "that I have no right to be loved in the common way?" Again there was a short silence. Wenderby then rose, and put his hand upon Lady Mary's arm. He spoke now as one who loved her and understood. "I know," he said, "exactly what this choice means. I want you to be my wife, and I mean to use every argument to persuade you. But I am going to be quite frank. When you marry me you will be turning away from a great deal. But I will hold you very precious. We shall always be comrades. Can you do this? To me it seems a choice between marrying for yourself and marrying for all that we hold most dear. Realise what our marriage would mean. Already we have wealth and social leading. Soon we should have supreme political office. There is no really able man of my age on the Tory side. Our house would be the absolute fortress of all we hold precious in the country. There is no one in whom I could so confidently trust as you." Lady Mary looked steadily at this vision. She knew it could be realised. She measured the full stature of Wenderby, and answered the call of her own talent. At last she spoke, rather as though she wondered to herself than talked with another: "But our marriage. What would our marriage be?" "Always entirely as you wished. I should wait for you still, and hope to win you. I should never put away that hope. But I should not take you for granted." "I cannot do things by half," she said, bravely meeting him. "If I marry you, I shall accept all the consequences." Wenderby bent his head. "You do not want to answer me now?" he suggested. "Come for my answer in twelve months." "It is a long time." "All my life hangs upon this decision. Twelve months is nothing at all." "Meantime," said Wenderby, "we meet as usual." "Of course." "You will tell no one of this?" "I reserve the right to tell my brother." Wenderby rose to go. He hesitated as they stood together. "Mary," he said, "I have talked coolly and sensibly. It was not easy. Try and believe that." His voice sank under the burden of his sincerity. "I care with my whole soul," he added abruptly. She met his look with understanding and compassion. He took the hand Peter had touched and lifted it. She drew it impulsively away, giving him the other hand. "A year from now," he said, and, kissing her fingers, went quickly from the room. XXXII Lady Mary had a sense of escape. She had put off the immediate need to decide for twelve months. Almost she exulted in the time she had won. She felt she had saved for herself a year of her days and nights--a year in which to measure the issues. Peter that afternoon had never seen her so radiant. He looked at her continually, and, when for a moment she left the room to answer a message, it seemed as if a light had gone out.