"Nothing," said Mrs. Graham. "My dear child you are not the first or the last sacrifice to impulse. You are not going to suffer long; your husband needs you so greatly and I think we women, if we realize it early enough, are only lastingly in love when we are happy in self-sacrifice." She felt Muriel quiver in her arms and held her a while. Half an hour later, composed again, she went, but not before she had talked of her husband, of his cheerfulness, his eagerness to follow all she did. He had planned their whole life together, and she was not to realise she had a blind husband. It was well she had not stayed to tea, for scarcely an hour had elapsed when the bell rang. Instinctively Mrs. Graham knew it was John. That he would come, she had never doubted. His confidence in her had touched her from that moment of boyish ardour in which he had acted as self-appointed cavalier on their first meeting at "The Croft." When he entered she saw that he had changed. He had put on a mask, of that she was sure. "Muriel has just gone," she said straightly, looking at him. "Oh!" he replied, but with no surprise or embarrassment. They sat down to tea. He talked of the Marshs, of their garden, of how Mrs. Marsh bore her loss. Mrs. Graham watched and let him talk of anything but the subject on which he really wished to talk. Then quickly, as he leaned over to take a piece of bread. "How is Muriel?" he asked, without a tremour in his voice. "She has been here and talked to me, John. It's no use our putting masks on. You know she loves you still." He sat silent for a few moments, then twisted his handkerchief in his hands, and looked down into his teacup. "I never thought otherwise," he said at last. And then, dispassionately, he told her his plans. He was going away, he was going to keep away. He would never forget, of course, but she might, and that would be half the battle. If they met later and she showed that he had ceased to be first in her love, then he would not find it so hard. To go away, to stay away, only that offered hope for them both. Mrs. Graham smiled in his face as she said-- "That is a desperate remedy," and although nothing had betrayed him in his voice, his eyes were full of dumb pain. "But John dear, perhaps you will be unable to stay away--had you thought of that?" He laughed now, bitterly, she thought. "Then I must make it impossible for me to return--but no woman can mean all that to a man," he added fiercely. "After all, love is the whole of a woman's life, it's only part of a man's--he has other interests." "You don't mean that John, dear," said Mrs. Graham quietly. "I do."