"And she can't? No. That is the difference. She'll have to live with the other things." He looked courageously at Morewood and ended, "We must trust in God." Either the sincerity or the unexpectedness of the remark kept Morewood silent. No such ambition as these two imputed to her consciously animated May Gaston. Just now she was content if she could persuade her mother that people after all said nothing very dreadful (for what was said was always more to Lady Attlebridge than what was true), could keep on something like friendly relations with her sister, and could maintain a cheerful view of her own position and of her experiment. Inevitably the hostility of his future mother-in-law and of Fanny brought out the worst side of Quisante's manners; in the effort to conciliate he almost fawned. May had to find consolation in a growth of openness and simplicity towards herself. And she had one notable triumph which more than anything else brought her through the trial with her purpose unshaken and her faith even a little strengthened. It was not a complete triumph, and in trying to push it too far she suffered a slight rebuff; but there was hope to be had from it, it seemed to open a prospect of successes more ample. She made Quisante send back Aunt Maria's five hundred pounds before Mr. Mandeville's operations had resulted either in safety or in gain. "You see, she never gave it you to use in speculation," she had said. "It isn't right, you must see it isn't. Have you got the money?" "Yes; but I meant to buy you----" "No, no, I wouldn't have it. Now do send it back. I know you see what I mean." Her voice grew doubtful and imploring. "Oh, yes, in a way. But I shan't lose it, you know." "That doesn't make the least difference." "If it pleases you, I'll send it back." "Well, do," she said with a little sigh. The motive was not that which she wished to rouse, but very likely it was that with which she must begin her work. Then she tried the further step. "And any profit you make, if you make any, you ought to send too," she said. Genuine surprise was exhibited on Quisante's face. "What, after sending back the five hundred?" he asked. "Yes, you ought." She made a little concession by adding, "Strictly, you know." Quisante looked at her, kissed her hand, and laughed. Her sense of humour, which she began to perceive would rather hamper her, made her join in the laugh. "Do you think me very absurd? No, no, not compliments! Truth, truth always!" "I call the suggestion rather--well, rather fanciful," said he. "Yes, I suppose you do," she sighed. "Do you know what I hope?" she went on. "I hope that some day that sort of suggestion will seem a matter of course to you."