Leigh," she said,
coming toward him, "to call on you in this fashion." She stood near
him, her hands involved in the folds of her cloak, her bearing one of
spontaneity and candour. He pulled off his cap and stood waiting.
None of the conventional greetings passed between them. He did not
even ask her to be seated, so great was his bewilderment, his anxiety
to know why she had come. The emotion that had stirred her in
Cardington's room seemed gone now. Her smile conveyed an humorous
appreciation of her unconventional act. The gaze of her eyes was
spiritual and clear.

"I have come to you as to a friend," she explained with sweet
seriousness. "You know the trouble I have brought upon myself, upon my
father, upon Mr. Emmet, upon every one. I am in great distress of
mind. I want to do the right thing, if it is possible to right so much
wrong at this late date. I have become confused as to my duty. My
husband thinks one thing--my father thinks another--and I don't know
what I ought to do. You have been in Mr. Emmet's confidence and in
mine. I want you to give me your advice."

"Perhaps you should have chosen a more disinterested judge, Miss
Wycliffe," he returned; "but you were right at least in feeling that
you could come to me as to a friend. In fact, I was thinking of coming
to you, perhaps not altogether as a mere friend--but let that go now.
Why should n't one who would have been something nearer, if it had been
possible, be at least that? And more--I am grateful to you for giving
me this opportunity. I take it as a proof that you have restored me in
some measure to your confidence, after I had deserved to lose it
entirely."

In reality, there had been no doubt in her mind in regard to her
husband, though possibly she would have denied, even to herself, that
her decision was formed before she came with the problem to the man
that loved her. It was not her duty to Emmet that distressed her, but
whether Leigh loved her still. This was what she wished to know, and
now his manner told her more than his words.

"Don't say you deserved to lose my confidence," she protested quickly.
"It was I who deserved to lose yours."

The attitude her coming demanded of him was cruelly difficult to
maintain, and he sought help from action.

"We 'll let bygones be bygones, then," he answered brusquely; but his
brusqueness pleased her. "Take this chair by the fire."

"The question is one of duty," she began again.