er!"

She smiled at him--a slow, sweet smile that curved her mouth, and
climbing to her eyes lit them with a soft radiance.

"Well?" she said quietly. "Why not?"

He got up abruptly, and going to the window, stood with his back to
her, looking out into the night.

She watched him consideringly. Intuitively she knew that he was
fighting a battle with himself. She had always been conscious of the
element of friction in their intercourse. This evening it had suddenly
crystallised into a definite realisation that although this man desired
to be her friend--Truth, at the bottom of her mental well, whispered
perhaps even something more--he was caught back, restrained by the
knowledge of some obstacle, some hindrance to their friendship of which
she was entirely ignorant.

She waited in silence.

Presently he turned back to her, and she gathered from his expression
that he had come to a decision. In the moment that elapsed before he
spoke she had time to be aware of a sudden, almost breathless anxiety,
and instinctively she let her lids fall over her eyes lest he should
read and understand the apprehension in them.

"Diana."

His voice came gently and gravely to her ears. With an effort she
looked up and found him regarding her with eyes from which all the old
ironical mockery had fled. They were very steady and kind--kinder than
she had ever believed it possible for them to be. Her throat
contracted painfully, and she stretched out her hand quickly,
pleadingly, like a child.

He took it between both his, holding it with the delicate care one
accords a flower, as though fearful of hurting it.

"Diana, I'm going to accept--what you offer me. Heaven knows I've
little right to! There are . . . worlds between you, and me. . . .
But if a man dying of thirst in the desert finds a pool--a pool of
crystal water--is he to be blamed if he drinks--if he quenches his
thirst for a moment? He knows the pool is not his--never can he his.
And when the rightful owner comes along--why, he'll go away, back to
the loneliness of the desert again. But he'll always remember that his
lips have once drunk from the pool--and been refreshed."

Diana spoke very low and wistfully.

"He--he must go back to the desert?"

Errington bent his head.

"He must go back," he answered. "The gods have decreed him outcast
from life's pleasant places; he is ordained to wander alone--always."

Diana drew her hand suddenly away from his,