That, however, would, he felt, be too simple, and his pride rebelled against anything that would stamp him as one who dare not face the men he had deceived.

One by one they had tacitly offered him their friendship and then their esteem, until he knew that he was virtually leader at Silverdale, and it seemed fitting that he should admit the wrong he had done them, and bear the obloquy, before them all.

For a while the thought of Maud Barrington restrained him, and then he brushed that aside.

He had fancied with masculine blindness that what he felt for her had been well concealed, and that her attitude to him could be no more than kindly sympathy with one who was endeavoring to atone for a discreditable past.

Her anger and astonishment would be hard to bear, but once more his pride prompted him, and he decided that she should at least see he had the courage to face the results of his wrong-doing.
As it happened, he was given an opportunity, when he was invited to the harvest celebration that was held each year at Silverdale.
It was a still, cool evening when every man of the community, and most of the women, gathered in the big dining-room of the Grange.