"That," said Winifred, "is, I think, for the society to decide. Of course I am now quite ready to tell anything about my circumstances." In her turn Hertha was silent. She agreed with Winifred that the society should decide, and she felt considerably inclined to believe that the society _had_ decided. For Mr Montague's thick letter, though unopened, was in her pocket. But the conversation was by no means at an end. "Winifred," said Miss Norreys again, "I have a great deal more to say to you--to tell you. But it would be such a satisfaction to me, and what matters infinitely more, to yourself afterwards, always--if you could now, without any further reason, try to see where your real duties lie." "I _will_ try," said Winifred, "but," and at last the tears rose in her eyes, "I did so long for a wider, a fuller life." "You cannot have found the petty detail and often wearisome round of work at ---Street very widening or inspiriting surely." "No, but I thought that would come. I was beginning to feel that something _depended_ on me, that I had a post--a place. And I like the feeling of `London,'" she added naively. Hertha smiled. "Yes," she said, "I know that, and you may still have it. I think you should be more in London than you have been." "There is Celia, too," exclaimed Winifred. "I am not forgetting her. But about yourself--you have put it in words. It is _the sense of responsibility_ about home duties that has been wanting, and has made them unattractive and irksome. That will come, if you set your shoulder to the wheel. You will soon see that, as I do believe is the case, you will be able to do the work better than it has ever been done, and new developments and possibilities would open out. Why, with the experience you have acquired, you might work into the society's hands down here--you might have a convalescent home, or a children's holiday home." Winifred's melancholy face brightened a little. "I will think about it all," she repeated, "and I will write anything you like to the society, or--but I hate troubling you--would not the best thing be for you to write to Mr Montague? And now, have you told me everything?" "No," said Hertha. They were now approaching the end where the aspens stood. Hitherto in their pacing up and down they had not gone so far, but this time Miss Norreys had purposely prolonged their walk a little. "No," she said, stopping short and looking round her with a strange kind of curiosity, "I have something more to tell you--where does this path go to, or end, Winifred?" she broke off suddenly. "Oh, I don't know exactly. We never come this way," the girl replied impatiently. "It goes along among the aspens, and then gets into a tangle. And some way further on there's a brook that runs into a pond. It's a wilderness sort of a place, and I hate it." Hertha looked at her.