it with
calmness and with indifference, then she, too, would show him that it was
nothing to her. Only, then, what a poor thing was this love of his! And
surely the man she had loved so fatally was not Maurice Kynaston at all,
but only some creature of her own imagination, whom she had invested with
things that the man himself had not lost because he had never possessed
them.

If this was so, then why, indeed, listen to the voice of her heart when
everything urged her to stifle it? Why not make Sir John Kynaston happy
and herself prosperous and rich, as everybody round her seemed to
consider it her duty to do?

It passed rapidly through her mind what a fine place Kynaston was; how
dear everything that wealth can bring had always been to her, what a wise
and prudent match it was in every way for her, and what a good indulgent
husband Sir John would be.

Who in the wide world would blame her for going back to him? Would not
everybody, on the contrary, praise her for reconsidering her folly, and
for becoming Lady Kynaston, of Kynaston? The errors of the successful
in this world's race are leniently treated; it is only when we are
unfortunate and our lives become failures that our friends turn their
backs upon our misdeeds in righteous condemnation.

"So long as thou doest well unto thyself men will speak good of thee."

Surely, surely, it was the best and the wisest thing she could do. And
yet even at that moment Eustace Daintree's pale, earnest face came for
one instant before her. What side in all this would he take--he of the
pure heart, of the stainless life? If he knew all, what would he say?

Pooh! he was a dreamer--an idealist, a man of impossible aims; his
theories, indeed, were beautiful, but impracticable. Vera knew that he
expected better things of her; but she had striven to be what he would
have desired, and if she had failed, was it her fault? was it not rather
the fault of the world and the generation in which her life had been
cast?

She had struggled, and she had failed; henceforth let her life be as fate
should ordain for her.

"What is it you wish me to say, Lady Kynaston?" she asked, turning
suddenly towards Maurice's mother.

"My dear child, I only want you to say that if John asks you again to be
his wife, you will consent, or say only, if you like it better, that you
will agree to meet him here. There shall be nothing unpleasant for you; I
will write to him and settle everything."

"If