He was courteous, somewhat distant.

‘I suppose I’m as well as I shall ever be,’ she answered coldly.  ’I asked you to meet me because I wanted to know what it was you spoke of in your last letters.  You got my answer, I suppose.’

’Yes, I received your answer.  But—­in fact, it’s too late.  The time has gone by; and perhaps I was a little hasty in the hopes I held out.  I had partly deceived myself.’

‘Never mind.  I wish to know what it was,’ she said im-patiently.

’It can’t matter now.  Well, there’s no harm in mentioning it.  Naturally you went out of your way to suppose it was something dishonourable.  Nothing of the kind; I had an idea that you might come to terms with an Australian who was looking out for actresses for a theatre in Melbourne—­that was all.  But he wasn’t quite the man I took him for.  I doubt whether it could have been made as profitable as I thought at first.’

‘You expect me to believe that story?’

’Not unless you like.  It’s some time since you put any faith in my goodwill.  The only reason I didn’t speak plainly was because I felt sure that the mention of a foreign country would excite your suspicions.  You have always attributed evil motives to me rather than good.  However, this is not the time to speak of such things.  I sympathise with you—­deeply.  Will you tell me if I can—­can help you at all?’

’No, you can’t.  I wanted to make quite sure that you were what I thought you, that’s all.’

’I don’t think, on the whole, you have any reason to complain of ill-faith on my part.  I secured you the opportunities that are so hard to find.’

’Yes, you did.  We don’t owe each other anything—­that’s one comfort.  I’ll just say that you needn’t have any fear I shall trouble you in future; I know that’s what you’re chiefly thinking about.’

’You misjudge me; but that can’t be helped.  I wish very much it were in my power to be of use to you.’

‘Thank you.’

On that last note of irony they parted.  True enough, in one sense, that there remained debt on neither side.  But Clara, for all the fierce ambition which had brought her life to this point, could not divest herself of a woman’s instincts.  That simple fact explained various inconsistencies in her behaviour to Scawthorne since she had made herself independent of him; it explained also why this final interview became the bitterest charge her memory preserved against him.

Her existence for some three weeks kept so gloomy a monotony that it was impossible she should endure it much longer.  The little room which she shared at night with Annie and Amy was her cell throughout the day.  Of necessity she had made the acquaintance of Mrs. Eagles, but they scarcely saw more of each other than if they had lived in different tenements on the same staircase; she had offered to undertake a share of the housework, but her father knew that everything of the kind was distasteful to her, and