"You may understand this," she said, keeping her voice as much under
control as possible, "you may understand this, that I don't know whom
I'm in love with, or whether or not I'm in love with any one. That's the
best I can say. I'm sorry, Rupert--but I don't think it's altogether my
fault. Papa's troubles seem to have transported me into a world where
they neither marry nor are given in marriage--where the whole subject is
alien to--"

"But you said," he protested, bitterly, "no longer ago than yesterday
that you--_loved_ me."

"And I suppose I do. I did in Southsea. I did--right up to the minute
when I learned what papa--and I--had been doing all these years--and
that if the law had been put in force--You see, that's made me feel as
if I were benumbed--as if I were frozen--or dead. You mustn't blame me
too much--"

"My darling, I'm not blaming you. I'm not such a duffer but that I can
understand how you feel. It'll be all right. You'll come round. This is
like an illness, by Jove!--that's what it's like. But you'll get better,
dear. After we're married--if you'll _only_ marry me--"

"I said I'd do that, Rupert--I said it yesterday--if you'd give up--what
I understand you _have_ given up--"

He was on his guard against admitting this. "I haven't given it up.
They've made it impossible for me to do it; that's all. It's their
action, not mine."

"It comes to the same thing. I'm ready to keep my promise."

"You don't say it with much enthusiasm."

"Perhaps I say it with something better. I think I do. At the same time
I wish--"

"You wish what?"

"I wish I had attached another condition to it."

"It mayn't be too late for that even now. Let's have it."

"If I had thought of it," she said, with a faint, uncertain smile, "I
should have exacted a promise that you and he should be--friends."

He spoke sharply. "Who? Me? That's a good 'un, by Jove! You may as well
understand me, dear, once and for all. I don't make friends of
cow-punchers of that sort."

"I do," she said, coldly, turning again to her note-book.

* * * * *

It was not strange that Ashley should pass the remainder of the day in a
state of irritation against what he called "this American way of doing
things." Neither was it strange that when, after dinner in the evening,
Davenant kept close to him as they were leaving Rodney Temple's house,
the act should have struck the Englishman as a bit of odious
presumptio