all
that sort of thing."

"Does that prove indifference?" she replied, and Bob thought he noted a
tremor in her voice.

"You know it does," he went on, hating himself for talking in such a
fashion, and yet unable to control his words. "Only yesterday, when we
were talking together at tea, and some one said that I should die an
old bachelor, you said that I was far more likely to die an old maid.
Then, although you saw you wounded me, you went off with Captain
Trevanion."

"Hadn't you, just before, refused to stay the evening, although I went
out of my way to persuade you? And you gave as your excuse that you
had some reading to do. As though your--your books----"

"Did you want me to stay?" asked Bob eagerly. "Nancy--did you really
care?"

The girl did not speak, but turned her eyes toward the great heaving
sea.

Robert's heart beat wildly as he looked at her. Never did he love her
as he loved her now, never had she seemed so fair to him. It was no
wonder he had fallen in love with her, for he knew that, in spite of
her love of pleasure, and her sometimes flippant way of talking, she
was one of the sweetest, truest girls that ever breathed. Although she
might be wilful, and passionate, and sometimes seemed careless whether
she gave pain or pleasure, she would give her last farthing to help any
one in difficulty.

He had been surprised when she suggested his motoring her to Gurnard's
Head that afternoon, little thinking that she did it to atone for what
she had said two days before.

"Nancy, did you want me to stay?" he repeated. "If--if I thought you
really----"

"Did it vex you that I asked Captain Trevanion to show me his new
horse?" she interrupted.

The flush on her face and the tremor of her lips set his heart beating
more wildly than ever. All caution went to the winds. The mad passion
which for years he had been trying to crush again mastered him. He
knew that his hour had come, and that he must speak and know his fate.

CHAPTER II

"Nancy," repeated Bob, "you know what is in my heart, don't you? Know
I've loved you for years?"

"You've never told me so," and there was a suggestion of a laugh in
Nancy's voice.

"Because I was afraid. How could I dare to--to tell you--when--when
you never gave a sign, and when--you seemed to like others better?
Others have wanted you, I know that; fellows--better looking than I,
more--more attractive than I, and with far better prospects.