ry him because Pendragon thought
that she had hooked him for his money.

"Yes--there is something. What is it?" He had come forward and taken
her hands.

But she drew them away slowly and sat down on the sofa. "I'm tired,"
she said a little defiantly, "that's all--you know if you will come and
call at such dreadfully unconventional hours you mustn't expect to find
people with all the paint on. I never put mine on till lunch----"

"No--it's no good," he answered gravely. "You're worried, and it's
wrong of you not to tell me. You are breaking your promise----"

"I made no promise," she said quickly.

"You did--that day on the moor. We were to tell each other always if
anything went wrong. It was a bargain."

"Well, nothing's wrong. I'm tired--bothered a bit--the old
thing--there's more to be bought than we're able to pay for."

"I've come with a proposition," he answered gravely. "Just a
suggestion, which I don't suppose you'll consider--but you might--it is
that you should marry me."

It had come so suddenly that it took her by surprise. The colour flew
into her cheeks and then ebbed away again, leaving her whiter than
ever. That he should have actually said the words made her heart beat
furiously, and there was a singing in her ears so that she scarcely
heard what he said. He paused a moment and then went on. "Oh! I know
it's absurd when we've only known each other such a little time, and
I've been telling myself that again and again--but it's no good. I've
tried to keep it back, but I simply couldn't help it--it's been too
strong for me."

He paused again, but she said nothing and he went on. "I ought to tell
you about myself, so that you should know, because I'm really a very
rotten type of person. I've never done anything yet, and I don't
suppose I ever shall; I've been a failure at most things, and I'm
stupid. I never read the right sort of books, or look at the right
sort of pictures, or like the right sort of music, and even at the sort
of things that most men are good at I'm nothing unusual. I can't
write, you know, a bit, and in my letters I express myself like a boy
of fifteen. And then I'm old--quite middle-aged--although I feel young
enough. So that all these things are against me, and it's really a
shame to ask you."

He paused again, and then he said timidly, bending towards her--

"Could you ever, do you think, give me just a little hope--I wouldn't
want you to right awa