tching a
steamer that had passed, Arnold drew Miss Derwent to a part of the deck
where they would be alone.

"You will feel," he said abruptly, "that you know England better now
that you have seen something of the England beyond seas."

"I had imagined it pretty well," replied Irene.

"Yes, one does."

Under common circumstances, Arnold would have scornfully denied the
possibility of such imagination. He felt most unpleasantly tame.

"You wouldn't care to make your home out yonder?"

"Heaven forbid!"

This was better. It sounded like emphatic rejection of Trafford
Romaine, and probably was meant to sound so.

"I myself," he pursued absently, "shall always live in England. If I
know myself, I can be of most service at the centre of things.
Parliament, when the moment arrives----"

"The moment when you can be most mischievous?" said Irene, with a
glance at him.

"That's how you put it. Yes, most mischievous. The sphere for mischief
is growing magnificent."

He talked, without strict command of his tongue, just to gain time;
spoke of expanding Britain, and so on, a dribble of commonplaces. Irene
moved as if to rejoin her company.

"Don't go just yet--I want you--now and always."

Sheer nervousness gave his voice a tremor as if of deep emotion. These
simple words, which had burst from him desperately, were the best he
could have uttered--Irene stood with her eyes on the darkening horizon.

"We know each other pretty well," he continued, "and the better we know
each other, the more we find to talk about. It's a very good
sign--don't you think? I can't see how I'm to get along without you,
after this journey. I don't like to think of it, and I _won't_ think of
it I Say there's no need to."

Her silence, her still attitude, had restored his courage. He spoke at
length like himself, with quiet assurance, with sincerity; and again it
was the best thing he could have done.

"I am not quite sure, Mr. Jacks, that I think about it in the same way."

Her voice was subdued to a very pleasant note, but it did not tremble.

"I can allow for that uncertainty--though I have nothing of it myself.
We shall both be in London for a month or so. Let me see you as often
as I can, and, before you leave town, let me ask whether the doubt has
been overcome."

"I hold myself free," said Irene impulsively.

"Naturally."

"I do you no wrong if it seems to me impossible."

"None whatever."

His eyes were fixed on her fac