Her tone became indescribably ironic, charged, too, with a feeling that she was unable to suppress. Feeling always engenders feeling. Something about Grimshaw, the conviction that he was intensely moved, moved her. She scented mystery. And immediately this suspicion was heightened as she intercepted a glance of Cicely’s directed full at Grimshaw, a supplicating glance, beseeching forbearance and patience. Tiddy had predicted aright. Cicely was no actress. Grimshaw, unable for his part to dissemble, returned the glance. Obviously there was an understanding, or a misunderstanding, between these two. In a harder voice Lady Selina addressed the silent Grimshaw. “Why do you look at my daughter? That boy, last night, said that you were afraid of her. Why? Is there any sort of—of league between you?” The hunted Cicely burst out: “A common desire to spare you.” “To spare me? Thank you for nothing. I demand the truth. Why is Mr. Grimshaw, a clever, distinguished man, working here under conditions which he holds to be fundamentally wrong?” Throughout this interview, so poignantly illuminating, Grimshaw had been sensible of Lady Selina’s sincerity and intelligence. He had never doubted the former; the latter gave him pause. Granting that she was really intelligent, an acute observer, why had she drifted into this _impasse_? Then he remembered what Pawley had said of her, her utter lack of business training, the stigma of all women of her class, and behind this the inherited instinct to move slowly in an appointed groove. Out of this groove she had been rudely shaken. For the first time she had a glimpse of what such women might accomplish if they were freed from the fetters of tradition and convention. He replied calmly: “What governs most of our actions, Lady Selina? Self-interest. Self-interest lured me into staying here against my better judgment. Self-interest brought me back to Upworthy, although I knew that the basic conditions were not likely to be changed.” “Self-interest?” She slowly repeated the two odious words, evidently puzzled, but keenly alert. “I can’t for the life of me see where self-interest comes in. Making due allowance for your modesty, Mr. Grimshaw, I fail to follow you. A big town is the place for you, not a country parish. You are the nephew of a distinguished London physician. You must know, better than I do, that self-interest, if you are speaking professionally, ought to have kept you away from Upworthy.” “I was not speaking professionally.” “Oh-h-h!” “I have been weak; something, too, of a coward; but I promise you that self-interest is going to be scrapped here and now.” “I am utterly at a loss——!” “You will be enlightened at once.” He stood up, the light from the windows falling full upon his face. “I have stayed here because I love your daughter.” IV