me terrible flat hand-shake at the door under Winn's penetrating
eyes.

But after a time she heard steps returning. Lionel came by himself.

"Are you busy?" he asked. "Shall I bother you if we talk a little?"

"No," she said softly. "I hoped you would come back."

Lionel did not answer for a moment. For the first time in their
acquaintance he was really a little stirred. He moved about the room
restlessly, he wouldn't sit down, though half unconsciously she had put
her hand on the chair beside her.

"Do you know," he said at last, "I've got something to say to you, and
I'm awfully afraid it may annoy you."

Was it really coming, the place at which he would have to be stopped,
after all her fruitless endeavors to get him to move in any direction at
all? It looked like it; he was very obviously embarrassed and flushed;
he did not even try to meet her eyes.

"The fact is," he went on, "I simply can't go without saying it, and
you've been so awfully good to me--you've let me feel we're friends." He
paused, and Estelle leaned forward, her eyes melting with encouragement.

"I am so glad you feel like that, Lionel," she murmured. "Do please say
anything--anything you like. I shall always understand and forgive, if
it is necessary for me to forgive."

"You're awfully generous," he said gratefully. She smiled, and put out
her hand again toward the chair. This time he sat down in it, but he
turned it to face her.

He was a big man and he seemed to fill the room in which they sat. His
blue-gray eyes fixed themselves on hers intently, his whole being seemed
absorbed in what he was about to say.

"You see," he began, "I think you may be making a big mistake. Naturally
Winn's awfully fond of you and all that and you've just started life,
and you like to live in your own country, surrounded by jolly little
things, and perhaps India seems frightening and far away." Estelle
shrank back a little; he put his hand on the back of her chair
soothingly. "Of course it must be hard," he said. "Only I want to
explain it to you. Winn's heart is yours, I know, but it's in his work,
too, as a man's must be, and his work's out there; it's not here at all.

"When I came here and looked about me, and saw the house and the garden
and the country, where we've had such jolly walks and talks--it all
seemed temporary somehow, made up--not quite natural, I can't explain
what I mean but not a bit like Winn. I needn't tell you what he is, I
dare