Her companion sat still for almost a minute, while the flickering firelight showed the pain in her face. Ever since the shock of Nettie Harding’s disclosure had passed she had grappled with the question Hester had suggested, and striven to reconcile herself to the answer. Tony had been suddenly revealed to her as he was, and the love she had once cherished had not survived her belief in him, but there was in her a depth of almost maternal tenderness and compassion which few suspected, and the man’s feebleness appealed to it. She knew how he clung to her, and that if she cast him off he would inevitably sink. There was a trace of contempt in her compassion as she realized it, and yet she had been fond of him, and he had many lovable qualities. She had also made him a promise, and his ring was still upon her hand, while she reflected with a tinge of bitterness that it is not wise to expect too much, and that men of stainless character were doubtless singularly scarce. The joy of life had vanished, but she felt that Tony’s fate was in her hands, and the duty, at least, remained. “Yes,” she said very slowly. “If he still wishes it when he comes back.” Hester nodded gravely. “I think you are right,” she said. “Tony will wipe the blunder out when he has you to prompt him, but I think he would go to pieces if you sent him away. Of course, it is not everybody who would feel it—but it is—a responsibility. You can, you see, make whatever you wish of him.” “One would esteem a man with the qualities which make that easy?” said Violet, with a little weary smile. “They might occasionally prove convenient in one’s husband,” said Hester, with a faint twinkle in her eyes. Her companion seemed to shiver. “I wonder what Tony is doing now,” she said. “It is, at least, hot and bright in Cuba, and if I had only known when he was coming back we would have gone away to the Riviera.” Then she straightened herself a little. “Isn’t it time your father arrived?” Hester smiled, and wondered if Violet was already sorry that she had unbent so far. “He should be here at any minute unless the train is late,” she said, and, feeling that her companion would prefer it, plunged into a discussion of Northrop affairs. While she made the most of each triviality there was a rattle of wheels outside, and Mr. Earle came in. He shook hands with Violet, and stood a moment or two by the fire. “I had expected to find your mother here,” he said. “It was a bitter afternoon, and I persuaded her to stay at home.” The man took a pink envelope out of his pocket, and handed it her. “I passed the post‐office lad walking his bicycle over a very soft piece of road, and pulled up to ask if he had anything for me,” he said. “When I found he had only a telegram for your mother I offered to bring it on, and he seemed quite willing to let me. The vicar hasn’t turned up yet, Hester?” “No,” said Hester. “I am expecting him.”