n has been arguing
with him the last half-hour, and can't get any sense into him. It
seems to me the man's crazy; but he might, perhaps, listen to you."

"I think that's scarcely likely," said Agatha quietly.

Her companion made a sign of impatience. "Then," she said, "it's a
pity. Anyway, if he speaks to you about his project you can tell him
that it's altogether unreasonable."

She drew aside, and Agatha walked into the room in which she had had
one painful interview with Gregory. Wyllard, who was sitting there,
rose as she came in, and half-consciously she contrasted him with her
lover. Then what Mrs. Hastings had once predicted came about, for
Gregory did not bear that comparison favourably. Indeed, it seemed to
her that he grew coarser and meaner in person and character. Then she
turned to Wyllard, who stood quietly watching her.

"Nellie Hastings or her husband has been telling you what they think of
my idea?" he said.

Agatha admitted it. "Yes," she said. "Their opinion evidently hasn't
much weight with you."

"I wouldn't go quite so far as that, but you might have gone a little
further than you did. Haven't you a message for me?" Then he smiled
before he added, "You were sent to denounce my folly--and you can't do
it. If you trusted your own impulses you would give me your
benediction instead."

Agatha, who was troubled with a sense of regret, noticed that there was
a suggestive wistfulness in his face.

"No," she said slowly, "I can't denounce it. For one reason, I have no
right of any kind to force my views on you."

"You told Nellie Hastings that?"

It seemed an unwarranted question, but the girl admitted it candidly.

"In one sense I did. I suggested that there was no reason why you
should listen to me."

Wyllard smiled again. "Nellie and her husband are good friends of
mine, but sometimes our friends are a little too officious. Anyway, it
doesn't count. If you had had that right, you would have told me to
go."

Agatha felt the warm blood rise to her cheeks. It seemed to her that
he had paid her a great and sincere compliment in taking it for granted
that if she had loved him she would still have bidden him undertake his
perilous duty.

"Ah," she said, "I don't know. Perhaps I should not have been brave
enough."

It was not a judicious answer. She quite realised that, but she felt
that she must speak with unhesitating candour.

"After all," she added, "can you be qui