"I'll come to him presently when I have thought out a problem."
Margaret turned herself now in such a position that she could see her husband's face. Something in his eyes seemed to speak straight to her sympathies,—she put her arms round his neck.
"Don't think any more now, my darling," she said. "Remember, though you are so well, that you were once very ill. You have had no dinner, it is not right for you to starve yourself and tire yourself. Come home with me, Robert, come home!"
"Not yet," he replied. "There is a knot which I must untie. I am thinking a very grave problem out. I shall have no rest, no peace, until I have made up my mind."
"What can be the matter?" inquired Margaret. "Can I help you in any way?"
"No, my dearest," he answered very tenderly, "except by leaving me."
"Is it anything to do with accounts?" she asked. She glanced at the table with its pile of letters and papers. "If so, I could really render you assistance; I used to keep accounts for Uncle James in the old days. Two brains are better than one. Let me help you."
"It is a mental problem, Maggie; it relates to morals."
"Oh, dear me, Robert, you are quite mysterious," she said with a ghost of a smile; but then she met his eyes and the trouble in them startled her.
"I wish I could help you," she said. "Do let me."