In the next room the boy awoke and broke into fitful crying at finding himself alone. The girl frowned impatiently, but she did not move immediately from her position at the window. The Arnotts' room was immediately opposite, with only the narrow space of the landing separating the bedroom doors. If the children cried in the night-time it was not her business to attend to them. Nevertheless, as the sobbing continued, she roused herself and went softly into the room, and bent over the child's bed, across which the moonlight fell wanly, bathing the little rounded limbs in its white light. Blanche picked up the sheet which had fallen to the floor and spread it over the boy. Her face, as she hung over him, and patted the tiny shoulder soothingly, was infinitely womanly. The child was only half awake, and at her touch, lulled into a sense of security by her presence, he sunk quickly back into slumber. As the sobbing died away the door of the room opened and Arnott entered. Seeing the girl there, he closed the door softly behind him and advanced to the bed and stood beside it, watching her as she bent over the child, with the moonlight falling upon her, revealing the white arms and bare shoulders, and the disarray of her hair. She had taken off her dress because the night was oppressive; her deshabille, and the consciousness of his gaze brought the hot colour to her cheeks. She straightened herself, and, satisfied that the child slept, turned and faced him in quick embarrassment. "Why are you here?" she whispered. "You shouldn't come in here. Go back." "I heard the child cry," he answered. "I didn't suppose I should find you here. Why are you not in bed?" "I couldn't rest," she said. "I was sitting at my window looking out at the sea. Then the boy awoke... You shouldn't have come in. Your wife--" "She is asleep," he returned... "Besides, what does it matter?" He made a movement towards her, but she drew back quickly. "Blanche!" he muttered. She swept the hair from her face with a weary gesture, and stood, a drooping, dejected figure in the dim light, regarding the man with cold, resentful eyes. "You are making life very hard for me," she said. "Why don't you leave me alone? To-day you have made me almost hate you. You said things which made me mad." "I love you," he whispered sullenly. "I can't help that, can I?" "_Love_!" The scorn in her voice stung him. She pointed to the closed door. "In pity's name, go now, before you compromise me utterly. Let your love show that much consideration for me." Without a word he turned and left the room, and she heard him enter his own room and shut the door softly behind him.