e your grandmother," she said. "Why not
tell me the truth?"

And, to his horror and astonishment, he told it.

"And that's what I meant to do," he ended. "It was a mad idea, and I see
now that if I do it at all I must marry some one who is not--who is not
like you. You have made me ashamed of myself."

A spot of pink colour glowed in her faded cheek. The old lady put up her
gloved hand and touched her cheek, as if it burned. She got up and
walked to the window, and stood there, looking out.

"If you _are_ going to do it," she said in a voice that was hardly
audible, "I have been used to live among beautiful surroundings--I
should like to end my days among them. I do not come of a long-lived
family. You would not have long to wait for your freedom and your second
wife."

Never in all his days had Michael known so sharp an agony of
embarrassment.

"When must you be married," the old lady went on calmly, "to ensure your
fortunes and estates?"

"In about a month."

"Well, Mr Wood, I make you a formal offer of marriage, and for
reference I can give you my banker and my solicitor----"

Her voice was calm; it was his voice that trembled as he answered: "You
are too good. I can't see that it would be fair to you. May I think
about it till to-morrow?"

The contrast between the old lady's dainty correctness of attire and
speech, and the extraordinary unconventionality of her proposal, made
Michael's brain reel. She turned from the window, again looked him
fairly in the eyes, and said: "You will not find me unconventional in
other matters. This is purely an affair of business, and I approach it
in a business spirit. You would be giving a home to one who wants it,
and I should be helping you to what you need still more. I have never
been married. I never wished to marry; and when I am dead---- Don't look
so horror-stricken. I should not die any sooner because you--you had
married me. My name is Thrale--Frances Thrale. That is my card that you
have been pulling to pieces while you have been talking to me. Shall I
come and see you again at this time to-morrow? It is not a subject on
which I should wish either to write or to receive letters."

He could only acquiesce. At the door the old lady turned.

"If you think I look so old as to make your marriage too absurd," she
said--and now, for the first time, her voice trembled--"I could dye my
hair."

"Oh no," Michael said, "your hair is beautiful. Good-bye, and thank
yo