Mannering was silent for a moment. A close observer might have noticed
a certain alteration in his face. A touch of the coming weariness was
already there.

"I have never changed my mind," he answered, quietly. "My inclinations
to-day are what they have always been."

She dropped her voice a little.

"You puzzle me," she said, softly. "Do you mean that it was your sense of
duty which was awakened?"

"No, I do not mean that," he answered. "Forgive me--but I cannot tell you
what I do mean. Circumstances brought me here against my will."

"You talk like a slave," she said, lightly enough. She, too, was brave.
She drank wine to keep the colour in her cheeks, and she told herself
that the pain at her heart was nothing. Nevertheless, some words of
Borrowdean's were mocking her all the while.

"We are all slaves," he answered. "The folly of it all is when we stop to
think. Then we realize it."

Their conversation was like a strangled thing. Neither made any serious
effort to re-establish it. It was a great dinner party, chiefly
political, and long drawn out. Afterwards came a reception, and Mannering
was at once surrounded. It was nearly midnight when by chance they came
face to face again. She touched him with her fan, and leaned aside from
the little group by whom she was surrounded.