And Mr. Benson, who admired a nice sense of honour, considering it the loftiest guide to human action, had concurred in this view of the case; but now, with Virginia Landray's great sad eyes fixed upon him, his ready sympathy all went out to her. He regretted that he had agreed with her husband; he felt, for a brief instant, that the reasonable thing for the latter to do was to abandon the whole project, with credit if he could, without credit if he must; for what did it matter what men said or thought, where her peace of mind was concerned? “You are Stephen's lawyer,” Mrs. Landray said, “and I suppose he has few secrets from you; perhaps you know more of his plans than he has told me; until now he has had no secrets from me.” She bestowed upon Benson a troubled, questioning glance, then she made an imperious gesture. “You are to tell me quite honestly if he is as hopelessly committed as he thinks to this matter, and to this man, Rogers—I am not to be put off!” “He has told you that he is going?” asked Benson, who wished to be quite sure on this point. “Yes,” impatiently. The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. “Very well, then, I suppose I can speak plainly.” She felt a sudden sense of jealous displeasure; by what right did he assume this attitude of intimacy with her husband; and how dared he even suggest that he might, by any chance, know more of Stephen's intentions than she did herself; but her resentment was only momentary. “You are to tell me if he is committed,” she said. “I think he is,” said Benson slowly. She set her lips firmly. “Then I suppose it is useless for me to object.” “You are very much opposed to his going?” said Benson. She opened her eyes wide in wonder at the question. “Would any woman wish the man—” she broke off abruptly, and glanced about her. “He will be leaving all this, and me; and for what?” She made a little gesture with her shapely hand and arm. “It is rather incomprehensible, Mrs. Landray,” said the lawyer. “But why should he wish to go? What can he gain by going? I wonder if I am to blame.” She regarded Benson with anxious, searching eyes. “Men are restless,” he said lamely. “But why should he be? You would not go—” “I, no—I have wanted to, though. But it's better for me to stay. They are involved,” he went on slowly. “I warned them in the start that they must be careful or this would happen; and now they are stubborn and unwilling to abandon a venture for which they are largely responsible. Nothing would have come of this man Rogers's efforts without their help.” “Have you taken shares in this absurd company?” He smiled a little cynically. “No, and I scarcely think I shall.” he hesitated. “Still I admit the speculation has its fascinations. I can't quite explain even to myself what they are; but they exist. Yes, I've even wanted to go,” he went on, smiling at her, “but I've never found I could afford to give way to my impulses.”