“No, no!” she cried tremulously. “We could never reach our House of Dreams that way--Oh, I know it! At least, not the sort of House of Dreams that would be worth anything to you or me, Blaise. It would only be a sham, a make-believe. You can’t build true on a rotten foundation.... Don’t ask me any more, dear. It’s so hard--so hard to keep on saying no when everything in me wants to say yes. But I must say it. And you... you must go back to Nesta.” Her voice almost failed her. She could feel her strength ebbing with every moment that he stayed beside her. She knew that she would not be able to resist his pleading much longer. Her own heart was fighting against her--fighting on his side! He saw her weakness and caught at it eagerly. “Do you know what you’re asking?” he demanded hoarsely. “Do you know what you are sending me back to? Our life together--Nesta’s and mine--has been simple hell upon earth. I obeyed you--and I took her back. But I have done no good by it. She is as weak and worthless as she ever was. Our days are one continual round of bickering and quarrels.” His face darkened. “And she is not satisfied! Her nominal position as my wife does not con tent her. Do you understand what that must mean--if I go back?” He paused, his eyes bent steadily upon her. “Jean”--very low--“now that you know--will you still send me hack to Nesta? Or will you come with me and let us find our happiness together?” He watched the scarlet flood surge into her face and then retreat, leaving it a pallid white. “Answer me!” he persisted, as she remained silent. “Wait... wait a little...” she muttered helplessly. She turned away from him and, leaning her elbows on the chimney-piece, buried her face in her hands. The supreme test had come at last. She realised, now, that her renunciation--that renunciation which had cost her so much pain and bitterness--had been, after all, only something superficial and incomplete. She had not made the full sacrifice that duty and honour demanded of her. Though she had outwardly renounced her lover--bade him return to Nesta--she still held him hers by the utter faithfulness of his love for her. Nesta had had but the husk, the shell--a husband in name only, every hour of their life together an insult to her pride and womanhood. Jean’s thoughts lashed her. Her shoulders bent and cowered a little as though beneath a physical blow. There had been a time--oh! very long ago, it seemed, before Destiny had come with her snuffers and quenched the twin flames and love and happiness--a time when dimly, as in some exquisite dream, she had heard the sound of little voices, felt the helpless touch of tiny hands. Perhaps Nesta, too, had heard those voices, felt those clinging hands, while her soul quickened to the vision of a future which might hold some deeper meaning, some more sacred trust and purpose, than her empty, wayward past.