Perhaps she was content, having secured his rights for him, to go on and be thankful that so little was actually exacted from her.

But such reasoning eventually shamed Truedale, and he acknowledged that there was something superb in a woman who, while still loving a man, was able to withhold herself from him until both he and she had sounded the depths of their natures.

In this state of mind Truedale devoted himself to business, and Lynda, with a fresh power that surprised even herself, resumed her own tasks.

“And this is love,” she often thought to herself, “it is the real thing.  Some women think they have love when love has them.  This beautiful, tangible something that is making even these days sacred has proved itself.  I can rely upon it—­lean heavily upon it.”

Sometimes she wondered what she was waiting for.  Often she feared, in her sad moments, that it might last forever—­be accepted this poor counterfeit for the real—­and the full glory escape her and Truedale.

But at her best she knew what she was waiting for—­what was coming.  It was something that, driving all else away, would carry her and Conning together without reservations or doubts.  They would know! He would know the master passion of his life; she, that she could count all lost unless she made his life complete and so crown her own.

The money was never mentioned.  In good and safe investments it lay, awaiting a day, so Truedale told McPherson, when it could be got rid of without dishonour or disgrace.

“But, good heavens! haven’t you any personal ambitions—­you and Lynda?” McPherson had learned to admire Conning, and Lynda had always been one of his private inspirations.

“None that Lynda and I cannot supply ourselves,” Truedale replied.  “To have our work, and the necessity for our work, taken from us would be no advantage.”

“But haven’t you a duty to the money?”

“Yes, we have, and I’m trying to find out just what it is.”

And living this strange, abnormal life—­often wondering why, and fearing much—­three, then four years, passed them by.

It is one thing for two proud, sensitive natures to enter upon a deliberate course, and quite another for them to abandon it when the supposed need is past.  There was now no doubt in Truedale’s heart concerning Lynda’s motive for marrying him; nor did Lynda for one moment question Truedale’s deep affection for her.  Yet they waited—­quite subconsciously at first, then with tragic stubbornness—­for something to sweep obstacles aside without either surrendering his position.

“He must want me so that nothing can sway him again,” thought Lynda.

“She must know that my love for her can endure anything—­even this!” argued Conning, and his stand was better taken than hers as she was to find out one day.

It seemed enough, in the beginning, to live their lives close and confidentially—­to feel the tie of dependence that held them; but the knot cut in deep at times and they suffered in foolish but proud silence.