?"

Mannering was silent for several moments. He was, however, meditating his
own reply less than studying his questioner. Her attitude was amazing to
him. She watched him all the time, frowning.

"You are not usually so tongue-tied," she remarked, irritably. "Have you
nothing to say to me?"

"I am wondering," he said, quietly, "what has given birth to this sudden
interest in my proceedings. What does it matter to you how my days are
spent, or what manner of use I make of them?"

"There was a time--" she began.

"A time irretrievably past," he interrupted, shortly.

"I am not so sure!" she declared, doubtfully.

"What has Borrowdean to do with this?" he asked her, abruptly.

"Borrowdean?"

"Surely! Some one has been putting notions into your head."

"Why take that for granted?" she asked, equably. "The pity of the whole
thing is obvious enough, isn't it? Sometimes I think that we were a pair
of fools. We played into the hands of fate. We were brought face to face
with a terrible situation. Instead of meeting it bravely we played the
coward. Why don't you forget, Lawrence, as I have done? Take up your work
again. Set a seal upon--that memory."

"I have outgrown my ambitions," he answered. "Life was hot enough in my
veins then. Desire grows cold with the years. I am content."

"But I," she answered, "am not."

"We each chose our life," he reminded her.

"Perhaps. I am not satisfied with my choice. You may be with yours."

"I am."

She leaned over towards him.

"Once," she said, "you offered me what you called--atonement. I refused
it. Just then it seemed horrible. Now that feeling has passed away. I am
lonely, Lawrence, and I am weary of the sort of life I have been living.
Supposing I asked you to make me that offer again?"

Mannering turned slowly towards her. He was not a man who easily showed
emotion, but there were traces of it now in his face. The hand which
rested on the back of his chair shook. There was in his eyes the look of
a man who sees evil things.

"It is too late, Blanche," he said. "You cannot be in earnest?"

"Why not?" she murmured, dropping her eyes. "I am tired of my life. What
you owed me then you owe me now. Why should it be too late? I am not an
old woman yet, nor are you an old man, and I am weary of being alone."

Mannering walked to the window. His hand went to his forehead. It was
damp and cold. He was afraid! If she were in earnest! And she spoke like
a woman who kne