To find her so calm, cheerful, and lovely, was something of a shock to Truedale. Had she been in tears, or, had she shown any trace of the suffering he had endured, he would have taken her in his arms and relegated the unfortunate money to the scrap-heap of non-essentials. But the scene upon which he entered had the effect of chilling him and bringing back the displeasing thought of Lynda's sacrifice. "Have you had a hard day, Con?" "Yes." "Drink the tea, and--let me see, you like bread and butter, don't you, instead of cakes?" They were silent for a moment while they sipped the hot tea. Then, raising their eyes, they looked suddenly at each other. "Lyn, I cannot do without you!" She coloured deeply. She knew he did not mean to be selfish--but he was. "You would be willing even to--accept my sacrifice?" she asked so softly that he did not note the yearning in the tones--the beseeching of him to abdicate the position that, for her, was untenable. "Anything--anything, Lynda. The day without you has been--hell. We'll get rid of the money somehow. Now that we both know how little it means, we'll begin again and--free from Uncle William's wrong conceptions--Lyn--" He put his cup down and rose quickly. "Wait!" she whispered, shrinking back into her low armchair and holding him off by her smile of detachment more than by her word of command. "I--I cannot face life without you," Truedale spoke hoarsely, "I never really had to contemplate it before. I need you--must have you." He came a step nearer, but Lynda shook her head. "Something has happened to us, Con. Something rather tremendous. We must not bungle." "One thing looms high. Only one, Lyn." "Many things do, Con. They have been crowding thick around me all day. There are worse things than losing each other!" "No!" Truedale denied, vehemently. "Yes. We could lose ourselves! This thing that makes you fling aside what went before, this thing that makes me long--oh! how I long, Con--to come to you and forget, this thing--what is it? It is the holiest thing we know, and unless we guard it sacredly we shall hurt and kill it and then, by and by, Con, we shall look at each other with frightened eyes--over a dead, dead love." "Lynda, how--can you? How dare you say these things when you confess--Oh! my--wife!" "Because"--and she seemed withdrawing from Truedale as he advanced--"because I have confessed! You and I, Con, have reached to-day, by different routes, the most important and vital problem. All my life I have been pushing doors open as I came along. Sometimes I have only peered in and hurried on; sometimes I have stayed and learned a lesson. It will always be so with me. I must know. I think you are willing not to know unless you are forced." Truedale winced and went back slowly to his chair.