r. She sat rather huddled in her
chair, as if a cold wind had caught her.

"Yes," she said in the same small, uneven voice. "He proposed. He didn't
make love to me. In fact he--promised that he never would. But he
thought--yes, that was it--he thought that presently I should be lonely,
and he wanted me to know that he was willing to protect me."

"What a fool!" Eustace said. "And so you refused him! I don't wonder. I
should have pitched something at him if I'd been you."

"Oh no! That wasn't why I refused. I had another reason." Dinah's head
was bent low; he saw the hot colour she sought to hide. "I didn't know he
cared," she whispered. "But even if--if I had known, I couldn't have said
Yes. I never can say Yes now."

"Good heavens above!" he said. "Why not?"

"It's a reason I can't tell anyone," faltered Dinah.

"Nonsense!" he said, with a quick touch of his old imperiousness. "You
can tell me."

She shook her head. "No. Not you. Not anyone."

"That is absurd," he said, with brief decision. "What is the reason? Out
with it--quick, like a good child! If you could marry me, you can marry
him."

"But I couldn't have married you," she protested, "if I'd known."

"It's something that's cropped up lately, is it?" He bent towards her,
watching her keenly. "It can't be so very terrible."

"It is," she told him in distress.

He was silent a moment; then very suddenly he moved, put his arm around
her, drew her close. "What is it, my elf? Tell me!" he whispered.

She hid her face against him with a little sob. It was odd, but at that
moment she felt no fear of the man. He, whose fiery caresses had once
appalled her, had by some means unknown possessed himself of her
confidence so that she could not keep him at a distance. She did not even
wish to do so.

After a few seconds, quiveringly she began to speak. "I don't know how to
tell you. It's an awful thing to tell. You know, I--I've never been happy
at home. My mother never liked me,--was often cruel to me." She shuddered
suddenly and violently. "I never knew why--till that awful night--the
last time I saw her. And then--and then she told me." She drew a little
closer to him like a frightened child.

He held her against his breast. She was trembling all over. "Well?" he
said gently.

Desperately she forced herself to continue. "I don't belong to--to my
father--at all; only--only--to her."

"What?" he said.

She buried her shamed face a little deeper. "That