So she had broken at last, her long fencing ended, her strong composure gone. "I can't bear it for you any longer. Have the strength. Go back to--" She broke into tremulous laughter. "Go back to duty, Harry--and forget this nonsense." "Come to me, Isobel!" "No, I daren't. From to-morrow there is--nothing." He caught the arms that would have defended her face. "You love me?" Her smile was piteous. "Not after to-night!" His triumph rose on the crest of passion. "Ah, you do!" He kissed her. "That's good-bye," she said. "I shall go through it all right, Harry. You'll see no signs. Or would you rather I went away?" "What made you tell me you loved me to-night?" "So many things are tormenting you, poor boy! Must I go on doing it? Oh, I have done it, I know. It was my self-defence. Now my self-defence must be forgetfulness." The clock over the stables struck a quarter past ten. "I must go back. I've told you." "Do you see Wellgood before you go to bed?" "Yes, always." "What happens?" "Don't, don't, Harry! What does it matter?" "Are you going to marry him?" "You're going to marry Vivien! I must go--or the door will be locked." A smile wavered at him in the darkness. "It's back to the house or into the lake!" "Swear you'll manage to see me to-morrow!" "Yes, yes, anything. And--good-bye." He let her go--without another kiss. His mind was all of a whirl. She sped swiftly up the avenue. He made for the gate with furtive haste. Isobel came to a stop. As the shawl had gone once, the letter had gone. Whither? Had the wind taken it? She had heard no tread, but what could she have heard save the beating of her own heart? No use looking for it. "Ah, miss," said the butler, who had just come to lock up, "so you'd missed it? I saw it blowing about, and went and picked it up. And you've been searching for it, miss?" "Yes, Fellowes. Thanks. I must have dropped it this afternoon. Good-night." She went in; the hall door was bolted behind her. The letter had served its purpose, but she was hardly awake to the fact that anything had happened about the letter. She had told Harry! The great secret was out. Oh, such bad tactics! Such a dangerous thing to do! But everybody had a breaking-point. Hers had been reached that night--for herself as well as for his sake. Nobody could live like this any longer. Now it was good-night to Wellgood; another ten minutes there--the one brief space of time in which he played the lover, masterfully, roughly, secure from interruption. "I can't do it to-night!" she groaned, leaning against the wall of the passage between drawing-room and study, as though stricken by a failure of the heart.