, Toni slipped into the seat behind the tray. In
honour of the fine day she had discarded her black frock for a serge
skirt and a girlish-looking white blouse, open at the throat; and now
that she had thrown aside her veil, her black hair, prettily loosened
beneath her soft little hat, made an ebony frame for her vivid face.

As he watched her gravely attending to the duties of the tea-tray, Owen
told himself that he might have made a worse choice.

He had long ago surprised her secret--although Toni had no idea of her
self-betrayal. At this stage of her development Toni was pure emotion--a
mere lamp through which love might shine unchecked, casting its beams
unashamedly upon the object of its devotion. Later she might learn, as
many women do, to interpose a veil between her soul and the world. The
lamp would shine with a tempered beam, its glow moderated to a mere
even, more tranquil light, and none would recognize the quality of its
burning.

But at present Toni's love was so whole-hearted, so innocently,
pathetically intense that it was no wonder Owen had divined both its
nature and its object long ago.

Well, to a heart rendered sore by a woman's callousness, such a warm,
eager devotion as this was inexpressibly attractive; and if Owen's eyes
were blinded by suffering, there was surely a chance that Toni's soft
fingers laid upon their lids might prolong the merciful myopia.

When tea was over there came a sudden little silence. The dusk was
falling; and the garden wore a ghostly look; while the river lay
passively unreflecting beneath the twilit sky.

The atmosphere of the room changed with the passing of the
sunlight--grew tense, electric, almost, one would have said, expectant;
and Owen realized that the moment for which he waited had come.

Toni, having finished her tea, was sitting rather slackly in her chair,
gazing dreamily out of the window; and Owen hesitated for a minute
before he spoke. She looked so young, so wistful, so helpless. It was
almost unfair, selfish, to speak to the child--and then, suddenly, he
knew that selfish or no, he must put an end to his own solitary
sore-heartedness.

"Toni"--she looked up as he spoke, and his utterance of her name set the
whole atmosphere throbbing with wild, sweet possibilities--"I want to
ask you something."

She did not speak, only her eyes fastened on his face.

"Do you think, Toni"--for a moment he faltered, then plunged bravely
on--"you could ever br