th open eyes into such a situation?

She shuddered.

"I cannot do it," she said, wringing her hands together; "don't ask me;
I cannot do it!"

Lady Kynaston got up, and went and stood by her chair.

"Vera, I entreat you not to let any false pride stand in the way of
this. Do not imagine that I ask you to do anything that would wound your
vanity, or humble you in your own eyes. It would be so easy for me to
arrange a meeting between you and John; it shall all come about simply
and naturally. As soon as he sees you again, he will speak to you."

"It is not that, it is not that!" she murmured, distractedly; but Lady
Kynaston went on as if she had not heard her.

"You must know that I should not plead like this with you if I were not
deeply concerned. For myself, I had sooner that John remained unmarried.
I had sooner that Maurice's children came into Kynaston. It is wrong, I
know, but it is the case, because Maurice is my favourite. But when we
hear of John shutting himself up, of his refusing to see any of his
friends, and of his talking of going to Australia, why, then we all feel
that it is you only who can help us; that is why I have promised Maurice
to plead with you."

She looked up quickly.

"You promised Maurice! It is _Maurice_ who wants me to marry his
brother." She turned very pale.

"Certainly he does. You don't suppose Maurice likes to see his brother so
unhappy."

The darkened room, the spindle-legged furniture, Lady Kynaston's little
figure, in her black dress and soft white tulle cap, the bright garden
outside, the belt of trees beyond the lawn, all swam together before her
eyes.

She drew a long breath; then she rose slowly from her place, a little
unsteadily, perhaps, and walked across the Persian rug to the empty
fireplace. She stood there half a minute leaning with both hands upon the
mantelshelf, her head bent forwards.

_Maurice wished it!_ To him, then, there were no fears, and no dangers.
He could look forward calmly to meeting her constantly as his brother's
wife; it would be nothing to him, that temptation that she dreaded so
much; nothing that an abyss which death itself could never bridge over
would be between them to all eternity!

And then the woman's pride, without which, God help us, so many of us
would break our hearts and die, came to her aid.

Very well, then, if he was strong, she would learn to be strong too;
if the danger to him was so slight that he could contemplate