red risks. At the last moment death may divide them. The
only thing that is secure is the present; they grasp that, and are
happy. That's the philosophy of life, darling; that must be our
philosophy. You are mine. I am not going to give up my rights. We
must be able to meet, to see each other when we wish. If to do that and
satisfy conventions, we must call ourselves `engaged,' engaged we will
be. I shall tell my mother to-night, you must tell the Gorings. We are
engaged, and we adore one another, and are gloriously happy. Do you
remember Jean when she was engaged? Weren't _they_ gloriously happy?"

"For three months!" Cruel memory flashed back echoes of impatient words
and sighs which had escaped the lovers' lips even during that short
period: "These eternal good-byes, these eternal interruptions! When
shall we be alone?"--"For three months! If it had been three years--
thirteen--thirty! I can't imagine Robert waiting for long indefinite
years. Oh, Piers, you would grow tired--impatient--"

He pressed her to him with a groan of anguish.

"Of course I shall be tired; of course I shall be impatient. Don't
torture me, darling--and yourself. It's a second best, and it must be
hard; but it is all that's left, and for a time at least it will be
bliss. One never knows what may happen. We are not particularly strong
people, you and I; we may not have long to live. Vanna, knowing the
uncertainty of life, dare you, _dare_ you refuse me my joy? You say
this has come upon us by your fault; then surely you feel your
responsibility also. You owe me something, and you must pay. Vanna, is
it so hard?"

"Hard! Do you think I want to refuse? Do you think it would not be
bliss to me to give way too? For myself it would be all gain--your
love, your companionship, your help; but for you it would be a barrier,
shutting out better things--a wife, children, a home. You need them,
Piers; you are not made for solitude. As you grow older you will need
them more. How dare I shut them out?"

He did not answer. Vanna felt his cheek twitch against her own, heard
the sharp indrawing of the breath. Her words had gone home; she felt a
wild surge of anger against herself--against the morbid
conscientiousness which had sought to wreck her own joy. The gods had
thrust a gift into her hands, and because it was not pure gold she had
thrust it aside, leaving herself to starve. The slackening of Piers's
arms brought with