the little whispered words, drove all
thoughts except the ones which centred round his desire from his mind.

"Joan," he said quickly, his hands caught at hers again, "let us stop
playing this game of make-believe. Let us face the future one way or
another. I love you, I want you. If you love me, come to me, dear, as
you say there can be nothing degrading in love. Let us live our lives
together in the new best way."

It was all clap-trap nonsense and he did not believe a word of it, but
the force of his passion was unmistakable. It frightened and held Joan.

"You mean----" she whispered.

"I mean that I want you to come and live at my place," he answered. "I
have a decent little flat, as you know. That is not living on my money,
O proud and haughty one"--he was so sure of his victory that he could
afford to laugh--"you shall buy your own food if you like. And you shall
be free, as free as you are now, and--I, Joan," his voice thrilled
through her, "I shall love you and love you and love you till you waken
to see the world in quite a new light. Joan!"

His face was very close against hers, the scent of the heliotrope had
grown on the sudden stronger and more piercingly sweet, perhaps because
the sun had vanished behind the distant line of trees and a little
breeze from the oncoming night was blowing across the flower-beds
towards them. The quick-gathering twilight seemed to be shutting them
in; people passed along the path, young sweethearting couples too happy
in each other to notice anyone else. The tumult in Joan's mind died down
and grew very still, a sense of well-being and content invaded her
heart.

"Yes"--she spoke the word so softly he hardly heard--"I'll come,
Gilbert." Then she threw back her head a little and laughed, gay,
confident laughter. "It will be rather fun, won't it?" she said.

CHAPTER II

"Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold,
And the great price we pay for it full worth.
We have it only when we are half earth,
Little avails that coinage to the old."

GEORGE MEREDITH.

It was not quite so much "rather fun" as Joan had expected. It had, she
discovered, its serious and unpleasant side. Serious, because of the
strange undreamt-of woman that it awoke within her, and unpleasant
because of the deceit and the telling of lies which Gilbert insisted it
must involve. Joan hated deceit, she had one of those natures that can