thing. There was no hint of impatience about his
strong figure. Simply, with absolute confidence, he waited.

Five minutes passed and he did not alter his position. The soft strains
in the room behind them had swelled into music that was passionately
exultant. It seemed to fill and overflow the silence between them. Then
came a triumphant crash and it ended. From within sounded the gay buzz
of laughing voices.

Slowly Wingarde turned and looked at the bent, hopeless figure of the
girl in the chair. He still held indifferently between his fingers the
spray of white blossom for which he had made request.

He did not speak. Yet, as if in obedience to an unuttered command, the
girl lifted her head and looked up at him. Her eyes were full of misery
and indecision. They wavered beneath his steady gaze. Slowly, still
moving as if under compulsion, she rose and stood before him, white and
slim as a flower. She was quivering from head to foot.

The man still waited. But after a moment he put out his hand silently.

She did not touch it, choosing rather to lean upon the balustrade of the
balcony for support. Then at last she spoke, in a whisper that seemed to
choke her.

"I will marry you," she said--"for your money."

"I thought you would," Wingarde said very quietly.

He stood looking down at her bent head and white shoulders. There were
sparkles of light in her hair that shone as precious metal shines in
ore. Her hands were both fast gripped upon the ironwork on which she
leant.

He took a step forward and was close beside her, but he did not again
offer her his hand.

"Will you answer my original question?" he said. "I asked--when?"

In the moonlight he could see her shivering, shivering violently. She
shook her head; but he persisted.

His manner was supremely calm and unhurried.

"This week?" he said.

She shook her head again with more decision.

"Oh, no--no!" she said.

"Next?" he suggested.

"No!" she said again.

He was looking at her full and deliberately, but she would not look at
him. She was quaking in every limb. There was a pause. Then Wingarde
spoke again.

"Why not next week?" he asked. "Have you any particular reason?"

She glanced at him.

"It would be--so soon," she faltered.

"What difference does that make?" A very strange smile touched his grim
lips. "Having made up your mind to do something disagreeable, do you
find shirking till the last moment makes it any easier--any more