CHAPTER XXV.
COURTHORNE MAKES REPARATION The silence in the big room had grown oppressive, when Barrington raised his head and sat stiffly upright.
"What has happened has been a blow to me, and I am afraid I am scarcely equal to entertaining you tonight," he said.

"I should, however, like Dane and Macdonald, and one or two of the older men to stay a while.
There is still, I fancy, a good deal for us to do." The others turned towards the door, but as they passed Winston, Miss Barrington turned and touched his shoulder.

The man, looking up suddenly, saw her and her niece standing close beside her.
"Madam," he said hoarsely, though it was Maud Barrington he glanced at, "the comedy is over.

Well, I promised you an explanation, and now you have it you will try not to think too bitterly of me.

I cannot ask you to forgive me." The little white-haired lady pointed to the ears of wheat which stood gleaming ruddy bronze in front of him.
"That," she said, very quietly, "will make it easier." Maud Barrington said nothing, but every one in the room saw her standing a moment beside the man, with a little flush on her face and no blame in her eyes.