"I am, in a measure, Reggie--I am going to call you Reggie--what it is the fashion to call a pessimist. It is my father's dower. I am afraid that, in a sense, from the men of my acquaintance, I always expect the worst. I believe most of them do, in their youth, many things which they ought not to do--and for which, in their age, they are sorry. I take this for granted. And I believe that, in spite of this being so, some of them make good husbands and good fathers. I think it possible that your temptations have been greater than is the case with the average man, and that, therefore, your misdoings have been more. But I am convinced that, as regards real strength, you are stronger than the average man, and that you can, if you like, put these things behind you for ever--and, on the stepping-stones of your dead self, rise to higher things. And I believe that you will like, because you love me--and because, also, I love you." "Unfortunately, Miss Jardine----" She made an imperious gesture with her hand. "Call me Dora. With you, now, it shall not be Miss Jardine." "Unfortunately"--there was an almost imperceptible pause, and then there came very softly the Christian name--"Dora, there are things which, when they are once done, we cannot put away. They meet us at Philippi." "If in your life there are such ghosts, why did you ask me to marry you?" "I ought not to have done. When I did I hoped that I should be able to lay the ghosts, and that for me there would be no Philippi." "But is there no hope now?" He seemed to hesitate. She went on with, in her voice, a sudden tremor. "Consider! Think well before you speak! Reggie, I wonder if you know how much the spoiling of your life will mean the spoiling of mine?" Her voice, or her manner, or her words--or all three combined--affected Mr. Townsend strangely. There seemed to be something in her glance which he found himself unable to encounter. He turned away. Going to him, she touched him softly on the arm. A shudder went all over him. The muscles of his face seemed to stiffen; his expression became a little set. His voice also became, as it were, a little rigid. "There may be hope." "There may be? Reggie!" She paused--as if breathless. "Of laying the ghosts--for ever?" "For ever." She was still again. Her articulation seemed to be actually impeded. "When will you know--for sure?" "This afternoon, at five." "Reggie!" His words appeared to take her by surprise. "Do you mean it--really?" "I do." He turned and looked at her. Their glances met. She shrank away from him. The hot blood flowed into her cheeks. Her emotion was so great, it made her beautiful. His name came from her lips, with a catching of her breath, and in a whisper. She was visibly trembling. "Reggie!" CHAPTER XXXVIII. ON THE THRESHOLD.