’I sometimes think you might have if it had not been for that play; for, of course, I’m not clever, and cannot discuss it with you....  Julia, I suppose, can—­that is the reason why you like her.  Am I not right?’

’Mrs. Bentley is a clever woman, who has read a great deal, and I like to talk an act over with her before I write it.’

‘Is that all?  Then why do people say you are going to marry her?’

‘But nobody ever said so.’

‘Oh yes, they have.  Is it true?’

‘No, Emily; it is not true.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes, quite sure.’

‘If that is so,’ she said, turning her eyes on Hubert, and looking as if she could see right down into his soul, ’I shall get well very soon.  Then we can go on just the same; but if you married her, I——­’

‘I what?’

’Nothing!  I feel quite happy now.  I did not want you to marry her.  I could not bear it.  It would be like having a step-mother—­worse, for she would not have me here at all; she would drive me away.’

Hubert shook his head.

’You don’t know Julia as well as I do.  However, it is no use discussing what is not going to be.  You have been very nice to-day.  If you would be always nice, as you are to-day, I should soon get well.’

Her pale profile seemed very sharp in the fading twilight, and her delicate arms and thin bosom were full of the charm and fascination of deciduous things.  She turned her face and looked at Hubert.  ’You have made me very happy.  I am content.’

He was afraid to look back at her, lest she should, in her subtle, wilful manner, read the thought that was passing in his soul.  Even now she seemed to read it.  She seemed conscious of his pity for her.  So little would give her happiness, and that little was impossible.  His heart was irreparably another’s.  But though Emily’s eyes seemed to know all, they seemed to say, ‘What matter?  I regret nothing, only let things remain as they are.’  And then her voice said—­

’I think I could sleep a little; happiness has brought me sleep.  Don’t go away.  I shall not be asleep long.’  She looked at him, and dozed, and then fell asleep.  Hubert waited till her breathing grew deeper; then he laid the hand he held in his by her side, and stole on tiptoe from the room.

The strain of the interview had become too intense; the house was unbearable.  He went into the air.  The November sky was drawing into wintry night; the grey clouds darkened, clinging round the long plain, overshadowing it, blotting out colour, leaving nothing but the severe green of the park, and the yellow whirling of dishevelled woods.

‘I must,’ he said to himself, ’think no more about it.  I shall go mad if I do.  Nature will find her own solution.  God grant that it may be a merciful one!  I can do nothing.’  And to escape from useless consideration, to release his overwrought brain, he hastened his steps, extending his walk through the farthest woods.  As he approached the lodge gate he came upon Mrs. Bentley.  She stood, her back turned from him, leaning on the gate, her thoughts lost in the long darkness of autumnal fields and woods.