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“But not insurmountable, any of them,” smiled Lord Ronald.

“I am afraid so,” she said.

He looked at her.

“May I not hear what they are?”

She hesitated.

“For one thing, you know,” she said, “one pays one’s servants.”

“Well, but you can pay me,” he said simply. “I shall not ask very high wages. I am easily satisfied. I shouldn’t call that an obstacle.”

She laughed a little.

“But that isn’t all. There is the danger of being found out. It–it would make it rather awkward, wouldn’t it? People would talk.”

“No one ever talks scandal of me,” said Lord Ronald comfortably. “I am considered eccentric, but quite incapable of anything serious. I don’t think you need be afraid. There really isn’t the smallest danger of my being discovered, and even if I were, I could tell the truth, you know. People always believe what I say.”

She smiled involuntarily at his simplicity, but she shook her head.

“It really wouldn’t do,” she said.

“What! More obstacles?” he asked.

“Yes, one–the greatest of all, in my opinion.” She got up and moved across the room, he pivoting slowly round to watch her.

She came to a stand by her writing-table, and began to turn over a packet of letters that lay there. She did it mechanically, with hands that shook a little. Her face was turned away from him.

He waited for a few seconds; then, as she still remained silent, he spoke.

“What is this last obstacle, Mrs. Denvers?”

She answered him with her head bent, her fingers still fluttering the papers before her.

“You,” she said, in a low voice. “You yourself.”

“Me!” said Lord Ronald, in evident astonishment.

She nodded without speaking.

“But–I’m sorry,” he said pathetically, “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you. I am not famed for my wits, as you know.”

She laughed at that, unexpectedly and quite involuntarily; and though she was instantly serious again the laugh served to clear away some of her embarrassment.

“Oh, but you are absurd,” she said, “to talk like that. No dull-witted person could ever have done what you have been doing lately. Major Fletcher himself told me that day we went to Farabad that it needed sharp wits to pose as a native among natives. He also said–” She paused suddenly.

“Yes?” said Lord Ronald.

She glanced round at him momentarily.

“I don’t know why I should repeat it. It is quite beside the point. He also said that it entailed a risk that no one would care to take unless–unless there was something substantial to be gained by it.”

“Well, but there was,” said Lord Ronald vaguely.

“Meaning my safety?” she questioned.

“Exactly,” he said.

She became silent; but she fidgeted no longer with her papers. She was making up her mind to take a bold step.

“Lord Ronald,” she said at last, “I am going to ask you a very direct–a horribly direct–question. Will you answer me quite directly too? And–and–tell me the truth, even if it sounds rather brutal?”

There was an unmistakable appeal in her voice. With an effort she wheeled in her chair, and fully faced him. But she was so plainly distressed that even he could not fail to notice it.

“What is it?” he said kindly. “I will tell you the truth, of course. I always do.”

“You promise?” she said, very earnestly.

“Certainly I promise,” he said.

“Then–you must forgive my asking, but I must know, and I can’t find out in any other way–Lord Ronald, are you–are you in love with me?”

She saw the grey eyes widen in astonishment, and was conscious of a moment of overwhelming embarrassment; and then, slow and emphatic, his answer came, banishing all misgiving.

“But of course I am,” he said. “I thought you knew.”

She summoned to her aid an indignation she was far from feeling; she had to cloak her confusion somehow. “How could I possibly know?” she said. “You never told me.”

“I asked you to marry me,” he protested. “I thought you would take the other thing for granted.”

She stood up abruptly, turning from him. It was impossible to keep up her indignation. It simply declined to carry her through.