wouldn't take the risk. You've no--no
stuffing. That is why, if you and I were left alone in the world
together for the rest of our lives, I should never do anything but
despise you."

Perigal's face went white. He bit his thin lips. Then he smiled as he
said:

"Retributive justice."

"I'm sorry to be so candid. But it's what I've been thinking for
months. I've only waited for an opportunity to say it."

"We've both scored," he said. "You can't take away what you've given,
and that's a lot to be thankful for--but--but--"

"Well?"

"I'm dependent for my bread and butter on a woman who bores me to
death, and have to look to a family for any odd jobs I may get--a
family that, whatever they may do for me, I should always despise.
That, and because I see what a fool I've been to lose you, is where
you've scored."

As he strolled away, wondering how Mavis could be so indifferent to him
after all that had happened, she did not trouble to glance after his
retreating form.

Henceforth, Mavis was left much to herself. Perigal avoided her; whilst
Windebank, about this time, to her annoyance, discontinued his frequent
visits. Having so much time on her hands, Mavis returned to her old
prepossessions about the why and wherefore of the varied happenings in
her life.

Looking back, she found that her loving trust, her faith in her lover,
her girlish innocence of the ways of sensual men had been chiefly
responsible for her griefs; that it was indeed, as Perigal said, that
she in her weakness had been preyed upon by the strong. Thus, it
followed that girlish confidence in the loved one's word, the primal
instinct of abnegation of self to the adored one, whole-hearted
faith--all these characteristics (which were above price) of a loving
heart were in the nature of a handicap in the struggle for happiness.
It also followed that a girl thus equipped would be at a great
disadvantage in rivalry with one who was cold, selfish, calculating.
Mavis shuddered as she reached this conclusion.

Her introspections were interrupted by an event that, for the time, put
all such thoughts from her mind.

One morning, upon going into Harold's room, she found that he did not
recognise her. The local doctor, who usually attended him, was called
in; he immediately asked for another opinion. This being obtained from
London, the remedies the specialist prescribed proved so far beneficial
that the patient dimly recovered the use of his senses, w