“Can't you understand?” she continued, stretching out her hand with a quick, impulsive little movement. “I am here in Henry's house, his wife, the mistress of his household. All the years we've been married I have never thought of another man. I have never indulged in even the idlest flirtation. And now suddenly my life seems upside down. I feel as though, if Henry stood before me now, I would strike him on the cheek. I feel sore all over, and ashamed, but I don't know whether I have ceased to love him. I can't tell. Nothing seems to help me. I close my eyes and I try to think of that new world and that new life, and I know that there is nothing repulsive in it. I feel all the joy and the strength of being with you. And then there is Henry in the background. He seems to have had so much of my love.” He saw the tears gathering in her eyes, and he smiled at her encouragingly. “Remember that at this moment I am asking you for nothing,” he said. “Just think these things out. It isn't really a matter for sorrow,” he continued. “Love must always mean happiness--for the one who is loved.” She leaned back in the corner of the sofa to which he had led her, her eyes dry now but still very soft and sweet. He sat by her side, fingering some of the things in her work basket. Once she held out her hand and seemed to find comfort in his clasp. He raised her fingers to his lips without any protest from her. She looked at him with a little smile. “You know, I'm not at all an Ibsen heroine,” she declared. “I can't see my way like those wonderful emancipated women.” “Yet,” he said thoughtfully, “the way to the simple things is so clear.” Confidences were at an end for a time, broken up by the entrance of Nora and Helen, and some young men from the Depot, who had looked in for a game of billiards. Lessingham rose to leave as soon as the latter had returned to their game. His tone and manner now were completely changed. He seemed ill at ease and unhappy. “I am going to have a day's fishing to-morrow,” he told Philippa, “but I must admit that I have very little faith in this man Oates. They all tell me that your husband has any number of charts of the coast. Do you think I could borrow one?” “Why, of course,” she replied, “if we can find it.” She took him over to her husband's desk, opened such of the drawers as were not locked, and searched amongst their contents ruthlessly. By the time they had finished the last drawer, Lessingham had quite a little collection of charts, more or less finished, in his hand. “I don't know where else to look,” she said. “You might go through those and see if they are of any use. What is it, Mills?” she added, turning to the door. Mills had entered noiselessly, and was watching the proceedings at Sir Henry's desk with a distinct lack of favour. He looked away towards his mistress, however, as he replied.