“And can you really believe that your way is the right way, Alix?” Giles inquired. “Can you imagine anything more unhappy than having to spend your life with someone you don’t love? That’s what the _mariage de convenance_ must often mean;—and, since one hasn’t found love in marriage, looking for it afterwards outside.” Alix’s eyes, as Giles thus indicated the tragic unveiled figure that stood between them, remained fixed upon the fire and she did not flush. She only seemed to meditate, and, after a further pause, she said: “Even marriages for love sometimes end like that. People’s hearts may change. The heart is not always a guide. That is perhaps the great difference; we do not believe that the heart is the guide; and you do. We believe that since the heart can make such mistakes—both inside and outside of marriage—we must depend on other things as well.” “On the suitable things, you mean,” said Giles. “But isn’t it better to make mistakes for ourselves, and to abide by the consequences, than to have other people make them for us? As for suitability, in all the essentials you and Jerry are perfectly matched. It’s absurd to wreck his happiness and yours because his mother finds disadvantages in your mother’s position. Do look at it straight, Alix.” “But I do look at it straight, Giles,” said Alix. “And all that I can see is that it would be impossible for me to marry Jerry.” After this a little silence fell between them. It was strange to feel, sitting there in the familiar room, with Alix beside him, that the grief that had brought them so near had also set them apart. Alix had never been so near him as yesterday; she had never been so far as now. A cold apprehension entered Giles’s heart as he felt it. If with her first step into maturity she was so removed, how much might not the future remove her? What claim, what charm could England have for Alix now? And as if she answered his thoughts she said: “Will you help me to go back to Maman to-morrow, Giles?” “But, my dear Alix,” cried Giles, rising and walking up and down the room, “why go now? How would you explain your sudden return to her? Surely you’re not going to deal her such a blow as to let her know what has happened?” “I have thought of it all, Giles,” said Alix, “and Jerry will be my explanation. She knows of Jerry’s offer of marriage, and what is more natural than that I should return to her if his family object to me? I shall tell Maman nothing; but I hope that she soon will feel that she has nothing more to hide from me. When Maman knows that his family object, she will be able, very soon, to guess why.” Giles had turned at the end of the room. “You need never say anything, you mean?” “I need never say anything”—Alix looked back at him—“except that Marigold Hamble went to Paris and that when she came back and had seen Lady Mary they objected. Maman will guess.” “Well; and after that? What then? When she’s guessed,” Giles asked, “what is gained?”