"To whom?" she demanded.
"To you—or to your husband—"
"Nonsense! We all understand one another too well for that! It is the boy who needs you and whom you need."
Hamlen turned to her again. "The boy," he repeated after her—"Philip! You would let him come into my life?"
"I desire nothing so much," she answered resolutely, a great joy surging in her heart as she seemed to see the barrier between him and life crumbling before her attack.
"Would the boy permit it? I might not be able—"
"Let me be judge of that," she smiled.
The man passed his hand wearily over his eyes as Mrs. Thatcher watched his uncertainty with fearfulness and yet with eager expectancy. She knew that she could say no more, that there was danger in bringing further pressure upon this spirit already extended to its extremest tension; and yet she longed to take advantage of what she had gained in awakening the latent human element and in disturbing the complacency which habit had established upon premises so false.
"Oh, Marian!" Hamlen cried at length, in a voice so full of suffering that it staggered her; "the world is not to be trusted even when you hold it up so temptingly before me. It always has been false and always will be so for me. Each time I have given it the chance it has struck me a harder blow than before. No, Marian, I can't expose myself again. If I could make myself a part of some one else—if this boy— No, no! I couldn't take the risk. You mustn't ask me. You mean it kindly, but—"
"Trust me," Marian said softly. "Come," she continued, nodding in the direction of the returning party. "I will tell Harry that you are dining with us to-night at the 'Princess.'"