and straight roads."

"Not more than I do, Theo. But you have said you can trust me; and at
least I can assure you that there was no question of personal
reluctance. Whatever Evelyn's failings may be, I know that _you_ are
the one big thing in her life."

Desmond compressed his lips, and looked down thoughtfully at the
bearskin under his feet; while Honor allowed her eyes to dwell on the
goodly lines of his face. Then he squared his shoulders and looked up
at her.

"Honor--if that is true--and I think it is--you are bound to let me
help her by the only means in my power. Give me back that promise of
mine. I am strong enough now to tackle the subject; and I warn you
fairly that I mean to have my own way. So don't waste time by beating
about the bush."

The unexpected attack unbalanced her, and the blood left her face; but
there was no hint of yielding in her eyes. They were equally matched
these two--strength for strength; will for will. The ultimate victory
might rest with either.

"Theo!" she protested, "you can ask that of me--to-day?"

"Yes, precisely--to-day. My mistake--my selfishness, has been very
painfully brought home to me in the last hour; and I don't ask it of
you--I demand it."

Honor drew herself up to her full height.

"You cannot command it, though," she said quietly. "And--I refuse."

The hot blood mounted to his temples, but he shut his teeth to keep
back hasty speech. Then, as the silence grew and deepened between
them, anger gave place to an unbounded admiration.

They were standing now face to face, beside the mantelpiece, exactly
as they had stood on that eventful April afternoon a year ago. The
memory came to them simultaneously; and each saw the light of it
spring into the other's eyes. Honor's face softened.

"You remember," she urged. "I see that you remember; and the arguments
you admitted then hold even more strongly now. Besides--you said I had
earned the right----"

"So you have--ten times over since then. But to-day I see my duty to
Ladybird so clearly, that no one--not even you--must stand in the way
of it. You would realise better how I feel, if you had heard her
pitiful excuses. She was 'dull.' She was 'lonely.' I had 'all those
men,'--so I had. She was right, poor child! Truth is, my life is so
richly filled with 'all those men,' that I sometimes wonder if I was
justified in bringing a woman into it at all. But having done so, I'm
bound to take her where she won't be t