er as he was. Yet
there was no other course open to him. So he told himself--so he tried
to tell himself, knowing full well that the only course open to him as a
man of honour was a full confession of the facts of the case.

To sneak away would be the act of a coward; to impose himself on her as
Rochester, the act of a villain; to tell her the truth, the act of a
man.

The result would be terrific, yet only by facing that result could he
come clear out of this business. For half an hour he sat, scarcely
moving. He was up against that most insuperable obstacle, his own
character. Had he been a crook, everything would have been easy; being a
fairly straight man, everything was impossible.

He had got to this bed-rock fact when the door opened and a servant made
his appearance.

"Dinner is served, my Lord."

Dinner!

He rose up and came into the hall. Standing there for a moment,
undecided, he heard a laugh and looked up. She was standing in evening
dress looking over the balustrade of the first landing.

"Why, you are not dressed!" she said.

"I--I forgot," he answered.

Something fell at his feet, it was a rose. She had cast it to him and
now she was coming down the stairway towards him, where he stood, the
rose in his hand and distraction at his heart.

"It is perfectly disgraceful of you," said she, looking him up and down
and taking the rose from him, "and there is no time to dress now; you
usen't to be as careless as that," she put the rose in his coat. "I
suppose it's from living alone for a fortnight with Venetia--what would
a month have done!" She pressed the rose flat with her little palm.

Then she slipped her fingers through the crook of his elbow and led him
to the breakfast-room door.

She entered and he followed her.

The breakfast table had been reduced in size and they dined facing one
another across a bowl of blush roses.

That dinner was not a conversational success on the part of Jones, a
fact which she scarcely perceived, being in high spirits and full of
information she was eager to impart.

It did not seem to matter to her in the least whether the flunkeys in
waiting were listening or not, she talked of the family, of "your mater"
and "Blunders" and "V" and other people, touching, it seemed on the most
intimate matters and all with a lightness of tone and spirit that would
have been delightful, no doubt, had he known the discussed ones more
intimately, and had his mind been open t