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He leaned forward, scrutinising her with a wisdom that seemed to pierce every barrier of conventionality and search her very soul.

“It begins now,” he said. “She came up on to the parade immediately after, and I waited under a lamp to get a glimpse of her. I saw her face, Miss Harford. I knew her instantly.” The girl’s eyes flickered a little, and she bit her lip. She was about to speak, but he stopped her with sudden authority. “No, don’t answer!” he said. “Hear me out. I waited till she was gone, and then I joined the young fellow on the beach. He was in the mood for a sympathetic listener, and I drew him out. He told me practically everything–how he himself was going to India and had to leave the girl behind, how her people disapproved of him, and how she was being worked upon by means little short of persecution to induce her to marry an outsider on the wrong side of forty, with nothing to recommend him but the size of his banking account. He added that she had not a single friend to stand by and make things easier for her. It was that, Miss Harford, that decided me to take this step. I can’t see a woman driven against her will; anything in the world sooner than that. And here comes my request. You want a friend to help you. Let me be that friend. There is a way out of this difficulty if you will but take it. Since I got you into it, it is only fair that I should be the one to help you out. This is not a proposal of marriage, though it may sound like one.”

He ended with a smile that was perfectly friendly and kind.

The rigid look had completely passed from the girl’s face. She was listening with a curious blend of eagerness and reluctance. Her cheeks were burning; her eyes like stars.

“I am so thankful to hear you say that,” she said, drawing a deep breath.

“Shall I go on?” said Cheveril.

She hesitated; and very quietly he held out his hand to her.

“In the capacity of a friend,” he said gravely.

And Evelyn Harford put her hand into his with the confidence of a child. It was strange to feel her prejudice against this man evaporate at a touch. It made her oddly unsure of herself. He was the last person in the world to whom she would have voluntarily turned for help.

“Don’t be startled by what I am going to say,” Cheveril said. “It may strike you as an eccentric suggestion, but there is nothing in it to alarm you. Young Willowby tells me that it will take him two years to make a home for you, and meanwhile your life is to be made a martyrdom on my account. Will you put your freedom in my hands for that two years? In other words, will you consider yourself engaged to me for just so long as his absence lasts? It will save you endless trouble and discomfort, and harm no one. When Willowby comes back, I shall hand you over to him, and your happiness will be secured. Think it over, and don’t be scared. You will find me quite easy to manage. In any case, I am a friend you can trust, remember, even though I have got the face of a baboon.”

So, with absolute quietness, he made his proposal; and Evelyn, amazed and incredulous, heard him out in silence. At his last words she gave a quick laugh that sounded almost hysterical.

“Oh, don’t,” she said–“don’t! You make me feel so ashamed.”

Cheveril’s face was suddenly quizzical.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “I take all the responsibility, and it would give me very great pleasure to help you.”

“But I couldn’t do such a thing!” she protested. “I couldn’t!”

“Listen!” said Cheveril. “I am off for a yachting trip in the Pacific in a week, and I give you my word of honour not to return for nine months, at least. Will that make it easier for you?”