old woman. I want a home, something different from this."

Mannering faced her gravely.

"Blanche," he said, "you are proposing something which would most surely
ruin the rest of our lives. What we might have been to one another if
things had been different it is hard to say. But this much is very
certain. We belong now to different worlds. We have drifted apart with
the years. Even the little we see of one another now is far from a
pleasure to either of us. What you are suggesting would be simply
suicidal."

She was silent. He watched her anxiously. As a rule her face was easy
enough to read. To-day it was impenetrable. He could not tell what was
passing behind that still, almost stony, look. Her silence forced him
again into speech.

"You agree with me, surely, Blanche? You must agree with me?"

She raised her head.

"I am not sure that I do," she answered. "But at least I understand you.
That is something! You want to go on as you are--apart from me. That is
true, isn't it?"

"Yes!"

She nodded.

"At least you are candid. You want your liberty--unfettered. What are you