Hester was a little nervous, but Berenice set her immediately at her ease by the graciousness of her manner.  They talked for some time of Bonestre.  Then there was a moment’s pause.  Hester summoned up her courage.

“I am afraid,” she said, “that you may consider what I am going to say rather a liberty.  I’ve thought it all out, and I decided to come to you.  I couldn’t see any other way.”

Berenice smiled encouragingly.

“I will promise you,” she said, “that I will consider it nothing of the sort.”

“That is very kind of you,” Hester said.  “I have come here because Mr. Mannering is the greatest friend I have in the world.  He stands to me for all the relatives most girls have, and I am very fond of him indeed.  I scarcely remember my father, but Mr. Mannering was always kind to me when I was a child.  You know, perhaps, that I am living with him now as his secretary?”

Berenice nodded pleasantly.

“I see him every day,” Hester continued, “and I notice things.  He has changed a great deal during the last few years.  I am getting very anxious about him.”

“He is not ill, I hope?” Berenice asked.  “I too noticed a change.  It grieved me very much.”

“He is simply working himself to death,” Hester continued, “without relaxation or pleasure of any sort.  And all the time he is unhappy.  Other men, however hard they work, have their hobbies and their occasional holidays.  He has neither.  And I think that I know why.  He fights all the time to forget.”

“To forget what?” Berenice asked, slowly turning her head.

“To forget how near he came once to being very happy,” Hester answered, boldly.  “To forget—­you!”

Then her heart sang a little song of triumph, for she saw the instant change in the still, cold face turned now a little away from her.  She saw the proud lips tremble and the unmistakable light leap out from the dark eyes.  She saw the colour rush into the cheeks, and she had no more fear.  She rose from her chair and dropped on one knee by Berenice’s side.

“Make him happy, please,” she begged.  “You can do it.  You only!  He loves you!”

Berenice smiled, although her eyes were wet with tears.  She laid her long, delicate fingers upon the other’s hand.

“But, my dear child,” she protested, “what can I do?  Mr. Mannering won’t come near me.  He won’t even write to me.  I can’t take him by storm, can I?”

“He is so foolish,” Hester said, also smiling.  “He will not understand how unimportant all other things are when two people care for one another.  He talks about the difference in your politics, as though that were sufficient to keep you apart!”

Berenice was silent for a moment.

“There was a time,” she said, softly, “when I thought so, too.”

“Exactly!” Hester declared.  “And he doesn’t know, of course, that you don’t think so now.”

Berenice smiled slightly.