"Not a very lofty resolve," she said, as she sank into a chair. "No... Not from your point of view... I suppose not." "And from your point of view?" she asked. He laughed. "You forget the shutters," he said. "My view is enclosed. I am unable to gaze up at the heights." "You could open the shutters if you would," she said in a voice that was only a little louder than a whisper. "Perhaps I don't wish to," he answered. He moved nearer to her. He did not sit down, but he leant with his arms on the back of a chair, looking at her, as he had leant the night of the ball when they had talked together on the stoep. "I'm satisfied with things as they are," he said. "I've got used to the rough and tumble of my lot. And I've become so thoroughly saturated with the belief that it is no concern of anyone's what I do that it's very unlikely I will submit to interference. I'm behaving quite abominably, I know," he added, in response to the quick, pained flush that warmed the pallor of her skin from the smooth brow to the slender white column of her throat; "but it would be a satisfaction to me if you would only realise that I'm not worth your distress. I understand what your idea is--most good women fall into the same error. But when a man has no desire to be influenced it is waste of time to attempt it." Her glance fell under his direct, steady look, and the embarrassed colour that had flamed into her cheeks retreated and left them whiter than before. She put up a hand for a second as if to screen her eyes from the light, and he knew that she was pressing back the starting tears. "I know," she said very low, and without looking at him, "that I've no right to interfere. But whatever you say,--whatever you think, we can none of us act independently of our fellows. When we do wrong we are bound to hurt someone--as well as ourselves." There was a brief silence during which both still figures remained so rigidly quiet that the subdued ticking of the dresden clock on the mantelpiece sounded intrusively loud in the stillness. Then Lawless moved abruptly. "You mean," he said, "that I am hurting you." "Yes... You are hurting me." He straightened himself and walked away to the window, where he stood looking out at the quiet night. A young moon shone like a white curved flame in the purple dome, casting its pure reflection on the misty beauty of the garden that, like a picture painted without colour, lay motionless under the starry heavens,--patches of black shadow, and splashes of white where the pale flowers showed in clusters in the uncertain light. "I never thought of it touching you," he said after a pause. "I suppose... the scandal--" "Oh! the scandal!" She looked up with a quick resentment in her eyes. "Can't you get deeper than just the part that shows?"