the right to kiss her if he chose, she
yielded, surrendering passively to the fierce tide of his passion.

"Kiss me!" he insisted hotly.

She kissed him obediently. But there was no warmth in her kiss, no
answering thrill, and the man knew it. He held her away from him, his
sudden passion chilled.

"Is that the best you can do?" he demanded, looking down at her with
something grimly ironic in his eyes. She steadied herself to meet his
glance.

"It is--really, Roger," she replied earnestly. "Oh!"--flushing
swiftly--"you must know it!"

"Yes"--with a shrug. "I suppose I ought to have known it. I'm only a
second string, after all."

There was so much bitterness in his voice that Nan's heart was touched
to a compassionate understanding.

"Ah! Don't speak like that!" she cried tremulously. "You know I'm
giving you all I can, Roger. I've been quite fair with you--quite
honest. I told you I had no love to give you, that I could never care
for anyone again,--like that. And you said you would be content," she
added with reproach.

"I know I did," he answered sullenly. "But I'm not. No man who loved
you would be content! . . . And I'm never sure of you. . . . You hate
it here--"

"But it will be different when we are married," she said gently.
Surely it _would_ be different when they were alone together in their
own home without the perpetual irritation of Isobel's malicious little
thrusts and Lady Gertrude's implacability?

"My God, yes! It'll he different then. I shall have you to _myself_!"

"Your mother?" she questioned, a thought timidly.

"She--and Isobel--will go to the dower house. No"--reading her
thoughts--"they won't like it. They don't want to go. That's natural
enough. Once I thought--" He checked himself abruptly, wondering how
he could ever have conceived it possible that his mother might remain
on at the Hall after his marriage. "But not now! I'll have my wife to
myself"--savagely. "Nan, how long am I to wait?"

A thrill of dismay ran through her. So far, he had not raised the
question as to the actual date of their marriage, and she had been
thankful to leave it for settlement at some vaguely distant period.

"Why--why, I couldn't he married till Kitty comes home," she faltered.

"I suppose not. When do you expect her back?"

"About the end of the month, I think, or the beginning of February."

"Then you'll marry me in April."

He made the statement with a certain