"So you see, Jane," concluded Lady Ingleby, pathetically, "as Michael is not coming back, I am indeed alone." "Loving Jim Airth as you do--" said Jane Dalmain. "Did," interposed Lady Ingleby. "Did, and do," said Jane Dalmain, "you would have been worse than alone if Michael had, after all, come back. Oh, Myra! I cannot imagine anything more unendurable, than to love one man, and be obliged to live with another." "I should not have allowed myself to go on loving Jim," said Lady Ingleby. "Rubbish!" pronounced Mrs. Dalmain, with forceful decision. "My dear Myra, that kind of remark paves the way for the devil, and is one of his favourite devices. More good women have been tripped by over-confidence in their ability to curb and to control their own affections, than by direct temptation to love where love is not lawful. Men are different; their temptations are not so subtle. They know exactly to what it will lead, if they dally with sentiment. Therefore, if they mean to do the right thing in the end, they keep clear of the danger at the beginning. We cannot possibly forbid ourselves to go on loving, where love has once been allowed to reign supreme. I know you would not, in the first instance, have let yourself care for Jim Airth, had you not been free. But, once loving him, if so appalling a situation could have arisen as the unexpected return of your husband, your only safe and honourable course would have been to frankly tell Lord Ingleby: 'I grew to love Jim Airth while I believed you dead. I shall always love Jim Airth; but, I want before all else to be a good woman and a faithful wife. Trust me to be faithful; help me to be good.' Any man, worth his salt, would respond to such an appeal." "And shoot himself?" suggested Lady Ingleby. "I said 'man,' not 'coward,'" responded Mrs. Dalmain, with fine scorn. "Jane, you are so strong-minded," murmured Lady Ingleby. "It goes with your linen collars, your tailor-made coats, and your big boots. I cannot picture myself in a linen collar, nor can I conceive of myself as standing before Michael and informing him that I loved Jim!" Jane Dalmain laughed good-humouredly, plunged her large hands into the pockets of her tweed coat, stretched out her serviceable brown boots and looked at them. "If by 'strong-minded' you mean a wholesome dislike to the involving of a straightforward situation in a tangle of disingenuous sophistry, I plead guilty," she said. "Oh, don't quote Sir Deryck," retorted Lady Ingleby, crossly. "You ought to have married him! I never could understand such an artist, such a poet, such an eclectic idealist as Garth Dalmain, falling in love with _you_, Jane!" A sudden light of womanly tenderness illumined Jane's plain face. "The wife" looked out from it, in simple unconscious radiance. "Nor could I," she answered softly. "It took me three years to realise it as an indubitable fact." "I suppose you are very happy," remarked Myra.