“I am so glad that you came, Lawrence,” she said.  “It was very good of you.”

She glanced towards the opened windows, and he closed them at once.

“I am afraid,” he said, “that you have not been well!”

There was a touch of her old self in the hardness of her low laugh.

“It is remorse!” she declared.  “I think that for once in my life I have permitted myself to think!  It is a great mistake.  One loses confidence when one realizes what a beast one is.”

He waited in silence.  It seemed to him the best thing.  She sat down a little wearily.  He remained standing a few feet away.

“I have given you away, Lawrence,” she said, quietly.

“So,” he remarked, “I understand.”

“Hester has told you, of course.  I am not blaming her.  She did quite right.  Only I should have told you myself.  I wanted to be the first to assure you of this.  Our secret is quite safe.  The man—­with whom I made a fool of myself—­has given me his word of honour.”

“Sir Leslie Borrowdean’s—­word of honour!” Mannering remarked, with slow scorn.  “Do you know the man, I wonder?”

“I know that he wishes to be your friend, and not your enemy,” she said.

“He chooses his friends for what they are worth to him,” Mannering answered.  “It is all a matter of self-interest.  He has some idea of making me the stepping-stone to his advancement.  I have a place just now in his scheme of life.  But as for friendship!  Borrowdean does not know the meaning of the word.”

“You speak bitterly,” she remarked.

“I know the man,” he answered.

“Will you tell me,” she asked, “what it is that he wants of you?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Is this worth discussing between us?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Very well, then, you shall know.  He wants me to re-enter political life, to be the jackal to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for him.”

“To re-enter political life!  And why don’t you?”

Mannering turned abruptly round and looked her in the face.  He had been gazing out of the window, wondering how long it would be before Hester returned.

“Why don’t I!” he repeated, a little vaguely.  “How can you ask me such a question as that?”

She was undisturbed.  Again he marvelled at the change in her.

“Is it so very extraordinary a question?” she said.  “I have often wondered whether you meant to content yourself with your present life always.  It is scarcely worthy of you, is it?  You were born to other things than to live the life of a country gentleman.  You dabble in literature, they say, and poke your stick into politics through the pages of the reviews.  Why don’t you take your coat off and play the game?”

Mannering was silent for several moments.  He was, however, meditating his own reply less than studying his questioner.  Her attitude was amazing to him.  She watched him all the time, frowning.