alked to me in a very
human way. And things are better with him. Pray sit down! No, there is
nothing else new in the room.'

He seemed to obey with reluctance; his eyes still strayed. Mrs. Ormonde
kept a subdued smile, and did her best to talk with ease of matters
connected with his voyage, and the like. Walter's replies grew briefer.
He said at last:

'The two years come to an end to-morrow.'

'They do.'

Mrs. Ormonde joined her hands upon her lap. She avoided his look.

'What have you to tell me of Thyrza?' he went on to ask, his voice
becoming grave. 'When did you see her?'

'Quite recently. She is well and very cheerful.'

'Always so cheerful?'

'Yes.'

'And you will tell me now where she is?'

She looked him steadily in the face.

'You wish to know, Walter?'

'I have come to England to ask it.'

'Yes, I will tell you.'

And she named the address. Walter made a note of it in his pocket-book.

'And now will you also tell me fully about her life since I went away?
I should like to know with whom she has been living, exactly how she
has spent her time----'

'Man of business!'

Mrs. Ormonde tried to jest, but did it nervously.

'Do I seem to you coarser-grained than I used to be?'

'More a man of the world, at all events. No, not fallen off in the way
you mean. But I think you judge more soberly about grave matters. I
think you know yourself better.'

'Much better, if I am not mistaken.'

'But still can have _la tete montee_, on occasion? Still think of many
things in the idealist's fashion?'

'I sincerely hope so. Of everything, I trust.'

'Could make great sacrifices for an imaginary obligation?'

He left his seat again. Mrs. Ormonde was agitated, and both kept
silence for some moments.

'It grieves me that you say that,' Walter spoke at length, earnestly.
'This obligation of mine is far from imaginary. That is not very like
yourself, Mrs. Ormonde.'

'I cannot speak so clearly as I should like to, Walter. I, too, have my
troublesome thoughts.'

'Let us go back to my questioning. Tell me everything about her, from
the day when you decided what to do. Will you?'

'Freely, and hide nothing whatever that I know.'

For a long time her narrative, broken by questioning, continued.
Egremont listened with earnest countenance, often looking pleased. At
the end, he said:

'You have done a good work. I thank you with all my heart.'

'Yes, you owe me thanks,' Mrs. Ormonde returned, quietl