he wished me to invite you in her
name hereafter to hear Mass from there with us. But I suppose, in view
of your 'lesson,' that is an invitation which you will decline?" The
glint of laughter shone brighter in her eyes, and her mouth had a tiny
pucker, amiably derisive.

John looked at her, his blue eyes bold.

"That is an invitation which I am terribly tempted to accept," he said,
in a voice of unconcealed emotion, of patent meaning; and beneath his
bold gaze, her dark eyes dropped, while I think a blush faintly swept
her cheeks. "And first of all," he added, "pray express to Frau Brandt
my grateful thanks for it--and let me thank you also for your kindness
in conveying it. If, in spite of my temptation, I _don't_ accept it,
that will be for a very special reason, and one quite unconnected with
my 'lesson.'"

Maria Dolores probably knew her danger. She turned, and began to walk
backwards, towards the point where you can pass from the cloisters,
through the great porte-cochere, into the garden, and so on to the
pavilion beyond the clock. She probably knew her danger; but she was
human, but she was a woman. Besides, she had reached the porte-cochere,
and thus commanded a clear means of escape. So, coming to a standstill
here, "What is the very special reason?" she asked, in a low voice,
keeping her eyes from his.

His were bolder than ever. Infinite admiration of her burned in them,
infinite delight in her, desire for her; at the same time a kind of
angry hopelessness darkened them, and a kind of bitter amusement, as of
one amused at his own sad plight.

"I wish I were rich," he exclaimed, irritably, between his teeth.

"Oh? Is _that_ the very special reason?" asked she, with two notes of
laughter.

"No," said he, "but it has a connection with it. You see, I'm in love."

"Yes," said she. "I remember your telling me so."

"Well, I wish I were rich," said he. "Then I might pluck up courage to
ask the woman I love to be my wife."

"Money isn't everything here below," said she. "I have your own word for
that."

"What else counts," said he, "when you wish to ask a woman to marry
you?"

"Oh, many things," said she. "Difference of rank, for example."

"That wouldn't count with me," said the democratic fellow, handsomely.
"I shouldn't give two thoughts to differences of rank."

Maria Dolores smiled--at her secret reflections, I suppose.

"But poverty puts it out of all question," John moodily went on. "I
coul