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Yet as he waited, still with that quiet hand upon her as though to assure her of his solidity, his trustworthiness, she spoke at last, in a voice so small that it sounded almost humble.

“But, Lord Ronald, I–I may never marry again. My late marriage was–was such a grievous mistake. I was so young at the time, and–and—-“

“Don’t tell me,” he said gently.

“But–but–if I never marry again?” she persisted.

“Then–unless, of course, you dismiss me–I shall be with you for all time,” he said.

She made a slight, involuntary movement, and he took his hand away.

“Will you think it over before you decide?” he said. “I will come to you, as soon as I am presentable, for your answer. For the present, would you not be wise to go back to your friends? I am too disreputable to escort you, but I will watch you to the palace steps.”

He got to his feet as he spoke. He was still absently mopping his face with the scrap of lace he had taken from her.

Beryl stood up also. She wanted to be gracious to him, but she was unaccountably shy. No words would come.

He waited courteously.

At last:

“Lord Ronald,” she said with difficulty, “I know you are in earnest. But do you–do you really wish to be taken at your word?”

He raised his eyebrows as if the question slightly surprised him.

“Certainly,” he said.

Still she stood hesitating.

“I wish you would tell me why,” she said, almost under her breath.

“Why?” he repeated uncomprehendingly.

“Yes, why you wish to safeguard me in this fashion,” she explained, in evident embarrassment.

“Oh, that!” he said slowly. “I suppose it is because I happen to care for your safety.”

“Yes?” she murmured, still pausing.

He looked at her with his straight grey eyes that were so perfectly true and kind.

“That’s all,” he said, and smiled upon her reassuringly.

Beryl uttered a sharp sigh and let the matter drop. Nonentity though he might be, she would have given much for a glimpse of his inner soul just then.

X

For three days after the reception at Farabad Beryl Denvers returned to her seclusion, and during those three days she devoted the whole of her attention to the plan that Lord Ronald Prior had laid before her. It worried her a good deal. There were so many obstacles to its satisfactory fulfilment. She wished he had not been so pleasantly vague regarding his own feelings in the matter. Of course, it was a feather-brained scheme from start to finish, and yet in a fashion it attracted her. He was so splendidly safe, so absolutely reliable; she needed just such a protector. And yet–and yet–there were so many obstacles.

On the fourth day Lord Ronald’s card was brought to her. He did not call at the conventional hour, and the reason for this was not hard to fathom. He had come for her final decision, and he desired to see her alone.

She did not know how to meet him or what to say, but it was useless to shirk the interview. She entered her drawing-room with decidedly heightened colour, even while telling herself that it was absurd to feel any embarrassment in his presence.

He was waiting for her on his favourite perch, the music-stool, swinging idly to and fro, with his customary serenity of demeanour. He moved to meet her with a quiet smile of welcome. A piece of strapping-plaster across his left temple was all that remained of his recent disfigurement.

“I hope my visit is not premature,” he remarked as he shook hands.

“Oh, no!” she answered somewhat nervously. “I expected you. Please sit down.”

He subsided again upon the music-stool, and there followed a silence which she found peculiarly disconcerting.

“You have been thinking over my suggestion?” he drawled at length.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I have.” She paused a moment, then, “I–am afraid it wouldn’t answer,” she said, with an effort, “though I am very grateful to you for thinking of it. You see, there are so many obstacles.”