rumbling away her resistance
piece by piece till at last he could stride in all-conquering and
take possession? He was always so strong, so horribly strong, so
sure of himself. And though it had pleased him to be generous in
his dealings with her, she had seen far less of that generosity
since Guy's recovery. They were partners no longer, she told
herself bitterly. That farce was ended. Perhaps it was her own
fault. Everything seemed to be her fault nowadays. She had not
played her cards well during Guy's illness. Somehow she had not
felt a free agent. It was Kieff who had played the cards, had
involved her in such difficulties as she had never before
encountered, and then had left her perforce to extricate herself
alone; to extricate herself--or to pay the price. She seemed to
have been struggling against overwhelming odds ever since. She had
fought with all her strength to win back to the old freedom, but
she had failed. And in that dark hour she told herself that
freedom was not for her. She was destined to be a slave for the
rest of her life.

The wild paroxysm of crying could not last. Already she was
beginning to be ashamed of her weakness. And ere long she would
have to face Burke. The thought of that steady, probing look made
her shrink in every fibre. Was there anything that those shrewd
eyes did not see?

What was that? She started at a sound. Surely he had not returned
so soon!

For a second there was something very like panic at her heart.
Then, bracing herself, she lifted her head, and saw Guy.

He had entered by the sitting-room door and in his slippers she had
not heard him till he was close to her. He was already bending
over her when she realized his presence.

She put up a quick hand. "Oh, Guy!" she said with a gasp.

He caught and held it in swift response. "My own girl!" he said.
"I heard you crying. I was in my room dressing. What's it all
about?"

She could not tell him, the anguish was still too near. She bowed
her head and sat in throbbing silence.

"Look here!" said Guy. "Don't!" He stooped lower over her, his
dark face twitching. "Don't!" he said again. "Life isn't worth
it. Life's too short. Be happy, dear! Be happy!"

He spoke a few words softly against her hair. There was entreaty
in their utterance. It was as if he pleaded for his own self.

She made a little movement as if something had pierced her, and in
a moment she found her voice.

"L