Peter and Lady Mary travelled up to London next morning in the same train. They separated at Arlington Street, and she asked him to come and see her on the evening of the following day. Peter lightly promised, and happily left her.

Late in the day he sat with his mother in Curzon Street with open windows, idle and reminiscent. His talk in the boat with Lady Mary had emphasized his impressions of the life he was leading. It was not all wise and beautiful. His absurd enthusiasm had again been mocked. He measured what he had saved from the wreck of his expectations. The people with whom he now was living were more frank and free than any he had known. They were on the whole without fear. They feared neither men, nor words, nor the satisfaction of their heart\'s desire. But he had not found, and would not find, Eustace Haversham repeated.

He considered Lady Mary. Was not the world justified in that it put her high above fear and calculation, bidding her be queenly and untroubled? Peter tried to see her snatched from her world of policy and grace. Might she not show fairer yet, seen apart from the things for which she stood?[Pg 254] Last night she had seemed like a creature with wings caught and held. How would they fare, those beating wings, if the common round too obstinately claimed her? Jealousy caught at Peter—the jealousy he had felt years ago when he saw a woman of the street pass to her desecration.

"How much do I love her?" he asked, prompted by the pain at his heart.

He loved her as far as the clasping of hands and his privileged admission to regard closely her perfection. His passion was a strong resolve that she should purely stand to be adored, not familiar, too delicate to catch at rudely for a possession.

His thoughts were shattered by a screaming in the street. Something extraordinary had happened. Peter moved to the window, and saw a newsboy rushing down from Piccadilly. Servants hurried from the doors, and bought the papers as he came. Peter at last heard the news, and saw the big black letters of the boy\'s fluttering bill. Wenderby had resigned. Peter turned impatiently away. These politics did not touch him.

But London was clearly interested. Next morning the papers were heavy with this great event. It stared at Peter from every corner of the street. Peter did not trouble to read the excited press. Since Wenderby had ceased to cloud the presence of his angel Peter had not regarded him. Frequently he paused that morning in his quiet reading of the law, but he paused to think only of an evening with Lady Mary.

[Pg 255]

Lady Mary was with Wenderby at that moment in her drawing-room at Arlington Street.

"I am pledged to you, Lord Wenderby," she was saying; and he answered:

"You talk like a creditor."

"Are you not a creditor?" she insisted. "You have put me beyond remedy into your debt."

"My resignation had to come last night, or not at all," he explained. "I was not trying to force you."

She measured him with a look, deliberate and frank.

"If I thought you were trying to force me," she said, "I should not be listening to you now. Your debt will be paid in full. But you must give me time. There are things you must allow me to forget."

Wenderby rose to go. He held her hand at parting, and hesitated a moment. The settled sadness of her manner showed him that she was looking back; showed him also that she had faced the future, and would not weakly remember things she must put away.

"Mary," he said, "if you cannot reasonably go through with this, remember that I resigned last night for the chance of you. It was only a chance."

"It was a safe chance," she answered quickly; "a chance that depended on my honour."

Wenderby gratefully accepted her decision. He became practical.

[Pg 256]

"How would you have it arranged?" he asked. "I mean the formal part of it."

"We must meet, and be publicly seen. The engagement—shall we say three months from now?"

Her sobriety misgave him. He began to realise the extent of her sacrifice. Had he pressed her unfairly?

"You are sure you can go on with this?" he urgently asked, again opening a way of retreat.

"Quite sure," she firmly answered. "I cannot yet be ............