"Regret!" she echoed a little bitterly. "Life is one long regret." "It is in our own hands," he said. "The choice is always ours." "No," she said, "no!" She drew her hand gently from his and turned her face aside quickly, afraid to meet the love in his eyes, afraid of the earnest persuasion of his manner as he presented their case anew for her consideration. It was hard to withstand him. But free choice, she realised, was the one thing which was not permitted them; for her it was not a question of choice at all; it was a matter of controlled and unquestionable necessity. If she turned back now it would be to own herself beaten at every point along the road of life. That would insure regret also--more than regret. A shameful consciousness of failure would stultify any satisfaction that love would bring them; and in watching her children grow up about her she would be reminded continually of how completely she had failed in her duty to them. They would be to her always a lasting reproach. "You are bent on making a hard business of life," he said. His voice held a dissatisfied ring; his eyes, as they rested on her half-averted face, wore a look of baffled perplexity. It had not been his intention to make this further appeal; he was vexed with himself for troubling her; but at the moment he could not have kept the words back. "Whatever course I took the path would be difficult," she answered, "because I took the wrong step years ago. One can't go back, you see, and start again. One has to make the best of one's mistakes. That's why we are parting now, dear,--you and I. There isn't any choice in it at all." He moved to her side of the compartment and sat down close to her. "I've got to submit to your ruling," he said; "I know that... And I'm doing it, doing it with an ill grace, perhaps; but you can't expect too much. There's just one little ray of comfort left me, Pamela... Shall I tell you what that is?" She slipped a hand into his. "Tell me," she said softly. "It's that I have a presentiment at the back of my mind that one day in the future--how far off or how near, I cannot say--we shall come together--be together always. I don't feel that we are parting. We aren't parting--not finally. This is an ugly phase in our intercourse-- a rude breaking away of vital things that entails a certain loss-- temporary loss. Afterwards we shall meet again, farther along the journey. Then we'll finish the journey together." She made no answer. She turned to him in silence, and drew his face to hers and kissed him with grave tenderness upon the mouth. After that they did not talk again for some considerable time. CHAPTER THIRTY.