“By Jove, so you would!” cried Maurice. “The Professor’s too deep for me. Why, he would have had us completely under his thumb. If we had kicked, he would only have had to hint that the priest’s conscience was becoming uneasy about his share in the business, or that he himself could give Prince Christodoridi an important piece of information if he liked, and we should have had to cave in. Little girl, we have not only told the truth, but shamed the—tempter!”
* * * * * * * *
“‘My native land—good night’!” said Maurice impressively, looking back from the deck of the steamer at the semicircle of twinkling lights which represented Therma.
“‘A long, a last adieu’!” said Zoe, not without regret.
“Not a bit of it!” said Maurice. “We’re only going to recruit our strength for further efforts.”
“My dear boy,” said Zoe solemnly, “Cambridge ought to reject you with ignominy, and Oxford gather you to her bosom with tears of joy. You are a lost cause in yourself.”
“I’m a made man,” declared Maurice, feeling Eirene’s hand creep sympathetically into his. “I came out with an open mind and a sense of duty. Now I have a wife whom I have robbed of her rights. Clearly I am bound in honour to recover them for her.”
“Men always say that it’s women who lose sight of a cause in an individual,” said Zoe sententiously.
“I don’t quite follow you, Zoe. I am the cause—the lost cause—you said so just this minute; and Eirene is the individual. Oh, I see—and we are one. That’s all right.”
THE END.