s suggestions more maddening. By a sort of reaction, these
thoughts assailed her strongly in the moments which followed her
outburst of passion and Wilfrid's response. Yet she could not--durst
not--frame words to tell him of her suffering. It was to risk too much;
it might strike a fatal blow at his respect for her. Even those last
words she had breathed with dread, involuntarily; already, perhaps, she
had failed in the delicacy he looked for, and had given him matter for
disagreeable thought as soon as he left her. She rose at length from her
kneeling attitude, and leaned back in her chair with a look of trouble
scarcely veiled.

Wilfrid did not notice it; he had already begun to think of other
matters.

'Beatrice,' he began, 'there's a subject I have avoided speaking of,
thinking you might perhaps be the first to mention it. Do you wish to
continue your singing?'

She smiled, and did not seem to attach great importance to the question.

'It is for you to decide,' she answered. 'You know why I began it; I am
ready to say my farewell whenever you bid me.'

'But what is your own feeling? I suppose you would in any case cease at
our marriage?'

'You are not ashamed of it?'

'It is true,' he replied humorously, 'that I am a member of the British
House of Commons, but I beg you won't think too meanly of me. I protest
that I have still something of my old self.'

'That means you are rather proud than ashamed. How' long,' she went on
to ask, lowering her eyes, 'is the British House of Commons likely to
sit?'

'Probably the talk will hold out for some seven or eight weeks longer.'

'May I sing the two remaining engagements, if I take no more after
those?'

'To be sure, you must. Let it stand so, then.'

She fell back into her brooding.

'Now I, too, have something to ask,' she said, after a short silence.

'Whatever you ask is already granted.'

'Don't be too hasty. It's more than you think.'

'Well?'

'I want you to give me some work to do for you--to let me come and sit
with you in your study some mornings and 'write things for you.'

Wilfrid laughed cheerily.

'If I had a regard for my dignity,' he said, 'I certainly shouldn't let
you. What will become of my pretence of work when you are let into the
secrets? But come, by all means. You shall digest a blue-book for me.'

'When? To-morrow morning?'

'If you will.'

Beatrice was satisfied.

CHAPTER XXI

DANGEROUS RELICS

'Beatrice is