as he realised her close and
wonderful presence, he suddenly told himself that it was worth while
risking even Heaven in the future for the joy of holding her for once in
his arms. She had never seemed to him so maddeningly beautiful as at
that moment. It was one of the hottest days of the season and she was
wearing a gown of white muslin, curiously simple, enhancing, somehow or
other, her fascinating slimness, a slimness which had nothing to do with
angularity but possessed its own soft and graceful curves. Her eyes were
bluer even than her turquoise brooch or the gentians in her hat. And
while his heart was aching and throbbing with doubts and hopes, she
suddenly smiled at him.

"I am going to sit down," she announced carelessly. "Please say to me
just what is in your mind, without reserve. It will be better."

She threw herself into a low chair near the window. Her hands were
folded in her lap. Her eyes, for some reason, were fixed upon her
wedding ring. Swift to notice even her slightest action, he frowned as
he discerned the direction of her gaze.

"Violet," he said, "I think that you are right. I think that the time
has come when I must tell you what is in my mind."

She raised her eyebrows slightly at the sound of her Christian name. He
moved over and stood by her chair.

"For a good many years," he began slowly, "I have been a man with a
purpose. When it first came into my mind--not willingly--its
accomplishment seemed utterly hopeless. Still, it was there. Strong man
though I am, I could not root it out. I waited. There was nothing else
to do but wait. From that moment my life was divided. My whole-soul
devotion to worldly affairs was severed. I had one dream that was more
wonderful to me, even, than complete success in the great undertaking
which brought me to London. That dream was connected with you, Violet."

She moved a little uneasily, as though the repetition of her Christian
name grated. This time, however, he was rapt in his subject.

"I won't make excuses," he went on. "You know what Linda is--what she
has been for ten years. I have tried to be kind to her. As to love, I
never had any. Ours was an alliance between two great monied families,
arranged for us, acquiesced in by both of us as a matter of course. It
seemed to me in those days the most natural and satisfactory form of
marriage. I looked upon myself as others have thought me--a cold,
bloodless man of figures and ambition. It is you who