She wondered when Mr. Mardon would renew his overtures for the transformation of her enterprise into a limited company.  In spite of herself she would deliberately cross his path and give him opportunities to begin on the old theme.  He had never before left her in peace for so long a period.  No doubt she had, upon his last assault, absolutely convinced him that his efforts had no smallest chance of success, and he had made up his mind to cease them.  With a single word she could wind him up again.  The merest hint, one day when he was paying his bill, and he would be beseeching her.  But she could not utter the word.

Then she began to say openly that she did not feel well, that the house was too much for her, and that the doctor had imperatively commanded rest.  She said this to every one except Mardon.  And every one somehow persisted in not saying it to Mardon.  The doctor having advised that she should spend more time in the open air, she would take afternoon drives in the Bois with Fossette.  It was October.  But Mr. Mardon never seemed to hear of those drives.

One morning he met her in the street outside the house.

“I’m sorry to hear you’re so unwell,” he said confidentially, after they had discussed the health of Fossette.

“So unwell!” she exclaimed as if resenting the statement.  “Who told you I was so unwell?”

“Jacqueline.  She told me you often said that what you needed was a complete change.  And it seems the doctor says so, too.”

“Oh! doctors!” she murmured, without however denying the truth of Jacqueline’s assertion.  She saw hope in Mr. Mardon’s eyes.

“Of course, you know,” he said, still more confidentially, “if you should happen to change your mind, I’m always ready to form a little syndicate to take this”—­he waved discreetly at the Pension—­“off your hands.”

She shook her head violently, which was strange, considering that for weeks she had been wishing to hear such words from Mr. Mardon.

“You needn’t give it up altogether,” he said.  “You could retain your hold on it.  We’d make you manageress, with a salary and a share in the profits.  You’d be mistress just as much as you are now.”

“Oh!” said she carelessly.  “If I gave it up, I should give it up entirely.  No half measures for me.”

With the utterance of that sentence, the history of Frensham’s as a private understanding was brought to a close.  Sophia knew it.  Mr. Mardon knew it.  Mr. Mardon’s heart leapt.  He saw in his imagination the formation of the preliminary syndicate, with himself at its head, and then the re-sale by the syndicate to a limited company at a profit.  He saw a nice little profit for his own private personal self of a thousand or so—­gained in a moment.  The plant, his hope, which he had deemed dead, blossomed with miraculous suddenness.