"Shall we go into the garden?" she suggested. "It is so warm."

He fell in at once with the proposal. "You will want a cloak," he
said. "Can I fetch you one?"

"Oh, thanks! Anything will do. I believe there's one of Daisy's in the
hall."

She moved across the room quickly, as one impatient to escape from a
confined space. Grange followed her. He was not smoking as usual. They
went out together into the warm darkness, and passed side by side
down the narrow path that wound between the bare flower-beds. It was
a wonderful night. Once as they walked there drifted across them a
sudden fragrance of violets.

They reached at length a rustic gate that led into the doctor's
meadow, and here with one consent they stopped. Very far away a faint
wind was stirring, but close at hand there was no sound. Again, from
the wet earth by the gate, there rose the magic scent of violets.

Muriel rested her clasped hands upon the gate, and spoke in a voice
unconsciously hushed.

"I never realised how much I liked this place before," she said.
"Isn't it odd? I have been actually happy here--and I didn't know it."

"You are not happy to-night," said Grange.

She did not attempt to contradict him. "I think I am rather tired,"
she said.

"I don't think that is quite all," he returned, with quiet conviction.

She moved, turning slightly towards him; but she said nothing, though
he obviously waited for some response.

For awhile he was discouraged, and silence fell again upon them. Then
at length he braced himself for an effort. For all his shyness he was
not without a certain strength.

"Miss Roscoe," he said, "do you remember how you once promised that
you would always regard me as a friend?"

She turned fully towards him then, and he saw her face dimly in the
starlight. He thought she looked very pale.

"I do," she said simply.

In a second his diffidence fell away from him. He realised that the
ground on which he stood was firm. He bent towards her.

"I want you to keep that promise of yours in its fullest sense
to-night, Muriel," he said, and his soft voice had in it almost a
caressing note. "I want you--if you will--to tell me what is the
matter."

Muriel stood before him with her face upturned. He could not read her
expression, but he knew by her attitude that she had no thought of
repelling him.

"What is it?" he urged gently. "Won't you tell me?"

"Don't you know?" she asked him slowly.

"I only know that what w