et for some months. But
I shall be taking you abroad somewhere before then. However, there will
be plenty of time to talk of all that." Then he changed the subject.

He drove her back to her rooms and went upstairs with her. It was about
half-past nine o'clock. "I have to go and meet a man at the Athenaeum at
ten," he said. "Hang it! But I will stay with you for a quarter of an
hour, and I dare say you won't be sorry to turn in early."

He sat himself down in a shabby armchair on one side of the fireless
grate. He was still smoking his big pipe. Cicely stood by the table.

He looked up at her. "Take off your hat," he said, "I want to see your
beautiful hair. It was the first thing I noticed about you."

She obeyed, with a blush. He smiled his approval. "Those soft waves," he
said, "and the gold in it! You are a beautiful girl, my dear. I can tell
you I shall be very proud of you. I shall want to show you about
everywhere."

He hitched his chair towards her and took hold of her hand. "Do you
think you are going to love me a little bit?" he asked.

She blushed again, and looked down. Then she lifted her eyes to his. "I
don't think you know quite what you have made me do," she said.

He dropped her hand. "Do you regret it?" he asked sharply.

She did not answer his question, but her eyes still held his. "I have
never been away from home in my life," she said, "without my father or
mother. Now I have left them without a word, to come to you. You seem to
take that quite as a matter of course."

The tears came into her eyes, although she looked at him steadily. He
sprang up from his chair and put his hand on her shoulder. "My poor
little girl!" he said, "you feel it. Of course you feel it. You've
behaved like a heroine, but you've had to screw up your courage. I don't
want you to think of all that. That is why I haven't said anything about
it. You mustn't break down."

But she had broken down, and she wept freely, while he put his arm round
her and comforted her as he might have comforted a child. Presently her
sobbing ceased. "You are very kind to me," she said. "But you won't keep
me away from my own people, will you--after--after----"

"After we are married? God bless me, no. And they won't be angry with
you--at least, not for long. Don't fear that. Leave it all to me. We
shall be married to-morrow. I've arranged everything."

"You have not told me a word about that," she said forlornly.

"I didn't mean to te