She was getting like Mrs. Merston, she told herself passionately. Already her youth had gone, and all that made life worth living was going with it. She had made her desperate bid for happiness, and she had lost. And Burke--Burke was only watching for her hour of weakness to make himself even more completely her master than he was already. Had he not only that morning--only that morning--gruffly ordered her back from a distant cattle-run that she had desired to inspect? Was he not always asserting his authority in some fashion over her, crumbling away her resistance piece by piece till at last he could stride in all-conquering and take possession? He was always so strong, so horribly strong, so sure of himself. And though it had pleased him to be generous in his dealings with her, she had seen far less of that generosity since Guy's recovery. They were partners no longer, she told herself bitterly. That farce was ended. Perhaps it was her own fault. Everything seemed to be her fault nowadays. She had not played her cards well during Guy's illness. Somehow she had not felt a free agent. It was Kieff who had played the cards, had involved her in such difficulties as she had never before encountered, and then had left her perforce to extricate herself alone; to extricate herself--or to pay the price. She seemed to have been struggling against overwhelming odds ever since. She had fought with all her strength to win back to the old freedom, but she had failed. And in that dark hour she told herself that freedom was not for her. She was destined to be a slave for the rest of her life. The wild paroxysm of crying could not last. Already she was beginning to be ashamed of her weakness. And ere long she would have to face Burke. The thought of that steady, probing look made her shrink in every fibre. Was there anything that those shrewd eyes did not see? What was that? She started at a sound. Surely he had not returned so soon! For a second there was something very like panic at her heart. Then, bracing herself, she lifted her head, and saw Guy. He had entered by the sitting-room door and in his slippers she had not heard him till he was close to her. He was already bending over her when she realized his presence. She put up a quick hand. "Oh, Guy!" she said with a gasp. He caught and held it in swift response. "My own girl!" he said. "I heard you crying. I was in my room dressing. What's it all about?" She could not tell him, the anguish was still too near. She bowed her head and sat in throbbing silence. "Look here!" said Guy. "Don't!" He stooped lower over her, his dark face twitching. "Don't!" he said again. "Life isn't worth it. Life's too short. Be happy, dear! Be happy!" He spoke a few words softly against her hair. There was entreaty in their utterance. It was as if he pleaded for his own self. She made a little movement as if something had pierced her, and in a moment she found her voice.