"I have cleaned the slate. I shall keep it clean." Her voice grew steadier. A touch of malice came into her expression. "I like compliments, and you have paid me about the biggest I ever had. It will take a little time to digest. So I think--I think, dear man, I will not stand in the way of your going back to the City, and saving the sinking ship--that is, if the work won't be too hard for you?" "No," he answered, touched by her more gracious aspect, yet slightly confused. "I have had nearly a year's holiday and rest; I am quite equal to work. But I am afraid the hours must necessarily be long, and that my opportunities of coming to see you will not be very frequent." "Perhaps that's just as well," she said, "while I am still in process of digesting the big compliment." Then impulsively she swept up to him and laid her hands on his shoulders, looking him full in the face. "See here, you thrice dear innocent, since you have mentioned that terrible word 'love,' the complexion of our relation has changed somewhat. Don't you understand, made as I am, I must fight seven devils within me if I'm to continue to play fair with you, as I swore I would? And so, just because you are so very much to me, I had best not see you too often until I have settled down into my new scheme of life. In a sense Alaric was a safeguard. That safeguard's gone." She moved a step back, letting her hands fall at her sides, while her eye grew hard and dark. "And there are other reasons, brutal, unworthy, sordid reasons, why it is wiser that you should not come here often at present. They did not exist--at least I had not the faintest conception that they did--when we last met. They have rushed into hateful prominence since. Don't ask me--I cannot tell you. You must trust me, and you must not let my silence alienate you. I can't be explicit, but I give you my word I am perfectly straight. And you must not let your religion alienate you either. By the way, what form of faith is it?" "The faith of my own people," Dominic answered. "The faith of the Catholic Church." Poppy smiled. "Then I am not so afraid I shall lose you," she said, "for that's the only brand of religion I've ever come across which isn't too nice to reckon with human nature as it really is. It can save sinners, just because it knows how to make saints--and it has made them out of jolly unpromising material at times, there's the comfort of it." She held out her hand in farewell. "Good-bye till next time. You've done me good, as you always do. Now, I am going to re-study some of my old parts, just to get the hang of the whole show again." But the door once shut, she flung herself down on the broad settee, while the tiny dogs, whimpering, crowded upon her lap.