"Yes," said Lady Pridmore encouragingly! "At the present moment he is very dangerously ill. The doctors take a very grave view of his case." Lady Pridmore was grieved to hear that, but it fully confirmed what she had surmised. What had she surmised? "I am quite sure that something rather dreadful took place here a week ago." Ambrose felt that was most probable. "I wish you would tell me, Edward," said Lady Pridmore, "what in your opinion it was that happened." The retort on the tip of Edward's tongue was, "How the devil should I know!" but fortunately he didn't allow it to pass. He contented himself with silence. "I want to see Mary most particularly," he said, after a pause. "I think I'll send her a telegram to say that I am coming by the first train tomorrow." "Do," said Lady Pridmore. "That will cheer her up." III He sent a telegram as he returned sadly to his rooms. He was in a miserable frame of mind. Somehow he was hating life, but he was now fully bent upon one thing, and no peace could be his until he had done it. After dinner came an answer to say Mary would be very glad to see him. He sat smoking endless pipes, until he realized that it would soon be too late to go to bed if he was to catch an early train. On arrival at Woking, Mary was at the station with her friend's car. She looked ill, he thought, but she seemed very glad to see him. At first they found little to say. Indeed, it was not until they had decided to use a fine morning in walking to Greylands, had sent on the car and taken to the road, that they were able to talk in the way they wished. "I suppose you don't quite know why I've come?" said Ambrose. "No, I frankly don't," said Mary, "but at least, Edward, it is always very, very good to see you." Ever since she could remember, he had ranked as the chief of her friends, and that accounted, perhaps, for a certain attitude of mind towards him. But in all the years they had known each other, in all the hours they had spent in each other's company, never had they seemed so intimate as in this walk together. And there was a very clear reason why this should be so. Never had each felt such a need of the other's perceptiveness. It was not for him to ask what had happened a week ago at that last interview in Queen Street. But she told him voluntarily. "I had promised to help him," she said, growing pale at the recollection. "And he came to me and told me all ... all the facts and the circumstances ... things that not I and not you, Edward ... could ever have guessed." "You were not able to do what he asked?" "No, I simply was not. I simply couldn't. I meant to help him. I wanted to. Perhaps ... perhaps I ought to have ... but ... but it was an abyss he showed me ... you don't know..." They walked on in silence a little way. "... A year ago, I made a pledge. And he counted on it. I think that is why he told me the whole dreadful story. Had I not been a coward, I should never have..."