"I am pledged to you, Lord Wenderby," she was saying; and he answered: "You talk like a creditor." "Are you not a creditor?" she insisted. "You have put me beyond remedy into your debt." "My resignation had to come last night, or not at all," he explained. "I was not trying to force you." She measured him with a look, deliberate and frank. "If I thought you were trying to force me," she said, "I should not be listening to you now. Your debt will be paid in full. But you must give me time. There are things you must allow me to forget." Wenderby rose to go. He held her hand at parting, and hesitated a moment. The settled sadness of her manner showed him that she was looking back; showed him also that she had faced the future, and would not weakly remember things she must put away. "Mary," he said, "if you cannot reasonably go through with this, remember that I resigned last night for the chance of you. It was only a chance." "It was a safe chance," she answered quickly; "a chance that depended on my honour." Wenderby gratefully accepted her decision. He became practical. "How would you have it arranged?" he asked. "I mean the formal part of it." "We must meet, and be publicly seen. The engagement--shall we say three months from now?" Her sobriety misgave him. He began to realise the extent of her sacrifice. Had he pressed her unfairly? "You are sure you can go on with this?" he urgently asked, again opening a way of retreat. "Quite sure," she firmly answered. "I cannot yet be glad of this event; but I shouldn't undertake to be your wife if I did not think I was able to keep faith. I shall join you gladly, and without reserve." Wenderby bent his head. "I don't think you will regret this," he said with deep emotion. "Everything I have is now devoted to you and the things which are dear to you. But I won't urge personal feeling on you now." He pressed her hand in a quick and friendly farewell. In another moment she was alone, able to think of her coming interview with Peter. She had begun to dread this so keenly that in a fit of shrinking she had almost written to him. She feared to see his pain, and trembled for its effect upon herself. Peter's invitation was for dinner at Arlington Street. Shortly before he came Lady Mary talked with her brother. He had just arrived in town, brought by Wenderby's resignation. He at once looked for his sister. They greeted in the drawing-room shortly before dinner. "This is great news," he began. "I came up from Yorkshire with the Chief Whip. He thinks we shall turn them out." He paused, and looked closely at his sister. "I am very proud of you, Mary," he went on. "You have accepted the work of your life." Lady Mary had lately seen little of Haversham. His work began utterly to absorb him. She put her hand on his arm. "Tony," she said, "I sometimes wonder if I'm not losing a brother." "Mary, dear," he protested, "you are more than ever precious to me now." Lady Mary sadly shook her head.