might go out to her
of their own accord; his eyes darkened with such intensity of pain
that it was well for both that hers were shielded from sight of them.

He longed, beyond all things on earth, to kneel down and comfort her.
He knew that three words from him would put an end to her distress,
and cancel his own quixotic plan of action. But the words were not
uttered; and he remained standing on the hearth-rug with his hands in
his pockets. There was no sign in the quiet room that anything
noteworthy had taken place. Yet on those two prosaic details the
future of three lives depended--a man silent when he might have
spoken; planted squarely on his feet when he might have been on his
knees.

Rob got up and stretched himself elaborately, vented his boredom in a
long musical yawn, then settled down to sleep again in a more
expansive attitude; and Evelyn's French clock struck six with cheerful
unconcern.

The silence, which seemed interminable, might possibly have lasted
three minutes, when Honor let fall her hands, and looked up at the man
who had mastered her. He looked what he was--unconquerable; and if she
had not loved him already, she must infallibly have loved him then.

"Please understand," she said, and her voice was not quite steady,
"that I have not _given_ my consent to this. You have simply wrenched
it from me by the sheer force of--your personality. You have not
altered my conviction by a hair's-breadth. What you have set your
heart on is a piece of unjustifiable quixotism; and I have only one
thing to beg of you now. Do nothing decisive till you have spoken to
Paul."

Desmond sighed.

"Very well. I will tackle him to-morrow."

"What a hurry you are in!" And she smiled faintly.

"I believe in striking while the iron's hot."

"And I believe in giving it time to cool. May I--first, say one word
to Paul?"

"No, certainly not." The refusal came out short and sharp. "If you two
combined forces against me I should be done for! Leave me to manage
Paul alone."

With a sigh she rose to her feet.

Then, quite suddenly, her calmness fell away from her.

"Theo--Theo," she protested, "if you really persist in this, and carry
it through, I don't think I shall ever forgive you."

The pain in her voice was more than he could bear.

"For God's sake spare me that!" he pleaded. "I am losing enough as it
is."

And now his hands went out to her irresistibly, in the old impulsive
fashion, that seemed an ech