ell, then, go--go! I know, now, that you don't really--care, in
your heart--whatever you may say."

And turning again to the mantelpiece, she laid her head upon her arms.

For a few moments Desmond stood regarding her, a great pain and
tenderness in his eyes.

"It is rather cruel of you to put it that way, Ladybird," he said
gently. "Can't you see that this isn't a question--of caring, but
simply of doing my duty? Won't you try and help me, instead of making
things harder for us both?"

He passed his hand caressingly over her hair, and a little shiver of
misery went through her at this touch.

"It's all very well to talk grandly about duty," she answered in a
smothered voice. "And it's no use pretending to love me--when you
won't do anything I ask. But--you _want_ to go."

Desmond sighed, and instinctively glanced across at Honor for a
confirmation of his resolve not to let tenderness undermine his sense
of right. But that which he saw banished all thought of his own
heartache.

She sat leaning a little forward, her hands clasped tightly over
Meredith's letter, her face white and strained, her eyes luminous as
he had never yet seen them.

For the shock of his unexpected news had awakened her roughly,
abruptly to a very terrible truth. Since his entrance into the room
she had seen her phantom palace of friendship fall about her like a
house of cards; had seen, rising from its ruins, that which her brain
and will refused to recognise, but which every pulse in her body
confirmed beyond possibility of doubt.

Desmond's eyes looking anxiously into hers, roused her to a
realisation of her urgent need to be alone with her incredible
discovery. Her lips lost their firmness; the hot colour surged into
her cheeks; and smoothing out John's letter with uncertain fingers,
she rose to her feet.

But in rising she swayed unsteadily; and in an instant Desmond was
beside her. He had never before seen this girl's composure shaken, and
it startled him.

"Honor, what has upset you so?" he asked in a low tone. "Not bad news
of John?" For he had recognised the writing.

She shook her head, fearing the sound of her own voice, and his
unfailing keenness of perception.

"You must be ill, then. I was afraid you were going to faint just now.
Come into the dining-room and have a glass of wine."

She acquiesced in silence. It would be simplest to let him attribute
her passing weakness to physical causes. And she went forward blin