am afraid you thought me awfully impertinent
when I suggested your marrying me the other day. It wasn't very
ingenious of me, I admit. But what can you expect from a nonentity? Not
brains, surely! I am not going to repeat the blunder. I know very well
that I am no bigger than a peppercorn in your estimation, and we will
leave it at that. But, you know, you are too young, you really are too
young, to live alone. Now listen a moment. You trust me. You said so.
You'll stick to that?"

"Of course," she said, wondering greatly what was coming.

"Then will you," he proceeded very quietly, "have me for a watch-dog
until you marry again? I could make you an excellent Sikh servant, and I
could go with you practically everywhere. Don't begin to laugh at the
suggestion until you have thoroughly considered it. It could be done in
such a way that no one would suspect. It matters nothing to any one how
I pass my time, and I may as well do something useful for once. I know
at first sight it seems impossible, but it is nothing of the sort in
reality. It isn't the first time I have faked as a native. I am Indian
born, and I have spent the greater part of my life knocking about the
Empire. The snake-taming business I picked up from an old bearer of
mine--a very old man he's now and in the trade himself. I got him to
lend me his most docile cobra. The thing was harmless, of course. But
all this is beside the point. The point is, will you put up with me as a
retainer, no more, until you find some one more worthy of the high
honour of guarding you? I shall never, believe me, take advantage of
your kindness. And on the day you marry again I shall resign my post."

She had listened to the amazing suggestion in unbroken silence, and even
when he paused she did not at once speak. Her head was bent, almost as
though she did not wish him to see her face--he, the peppercorn, the
nonentity, whose opinion mattered so little!

Yet as he waited, still with that quiet hand upon her as though to
assure her of his solidity, his trustworthiness, she spoke at last, in a
voice so small that it sounded almost humble.

"But, Lord Ronald, I--I may never marry again. My late marriage was--was
such a grievous mistake. I was so young at the time, and--and----"

"Don't tell me," he said gently.

"But--but--if I never marry again?" she persisted.

"Then--unless, of course, you dismiss me--I shall be with you for all
time," he said.

She made a slight, inv