el that he _wants_ to
go; that with all our love and care we are so much outside his life that
we can't make him happy or satisfied. Poor mother! It must be dreadful
to bring up a child all those years, and to long and long for his
return, and then see him in a hurry to rush away again, just because--
oh, I know that you know the real reason--because of a girl of whom,
after all, he has seen very little! It's very hard!"

"Yes, it is hard--but it is the natural course of events, and I am sure
Mrs Trevor realises that Miles is one of the best sons that it is
possible for a woman to have. He doesn't love you any the less because
he feels the need of getting back to his work. A man must work if he
has any trouble weighing upon him; it is the only safe way of letting
off steam. Fortunately there is plenty for him to do, and the chances
are good for a speedy return."

He paused, and Betty turned her head aside, and gazed over the darkening
sea.

"And--you?" she asked softly. "Will you go too?"

"That depends."

"On business?"

"Partly. If things go on as well as they have started, the company will
be floated in another month, and I shall be of more use at the other end
than here. I have made no plans, however. There are other
considerations which come even before business."

He paused again, as if waiting to be questioned, but Betty did not
speak. The gentle break of the water was the only sound which broke the
silence. Afar off she could just distinguish the dark, retreating
figures of Miles and Jill. She stared at them, at the sea, the sky,
anywhere except at that pale, eager face which was watching her so
intently.

"Betty," breathed a low voice by her side, "you know what I mean! You
know that my going or staying depends upon yourself--that the happiness
of my life is in your hands! Are you going to be kind to me, Betty?
Will you let me love you?"

She drew herself away from him with a cry of protest, almost startling
in its suddenness.

"Oh no, no! I cannot--I must not listen! It is quite impossible.
Please don't say any more. I cannot listen to you!"

"But, Betty,"--he put out his hand and took forcible possession of the
little cold fingers--"I must speak. We must have this out, and be
honest with each other. Dear!--don't think me presumptuous, but lately
I have fancied that you did care a little bit for me, and were not
perfectly indifferent whether I came or stayed. Was I quite mis