and what was real? Were these proposals and
intimacies and adventures real, or was the contentment which she had
seen on the faces of Susan and Rachel more real than anything she had
ever felt?

She made herself ready to go downstairs, absentmindedly, but her fingers
were so well trained that they did the work of preparing her almost of
their own accord. When she was actually on the way downstairs, the blood
began to circle through her body of its own accord too, for her mind
felt very dull.

Mr. Perrott was waiting for her. Indeed, he had gone straight into the
garden after luncheon, and had been walking up and down the path for
more than half an hour, in a state of acute suspense.

"I'm late as usual!" she exclaimed, as she caught sight of him. "Well,
you must forgive me; I had to pack up. . . . My word! It looks stormy!
And that's a new steamer in the bay, isn't it?"

She looked at the bay, in which a steamer was just dropping anchor, the
smoke still hanging about it, while a swift black shudder ran through
the waves. "One's quite forgotten what rain looks like," she added.

But Mr. Perrott paid no attention to the steamer or to the weather.

"Miss Murgatroyd," he began with his usual formality, "I asked you to
come here from a very selfish motive, I fear. I do not think you need to
be assured once more of my feelings; but, as you are leaving so soon, I
felt that I could not let you go without asking you to tell me--have I
any reason to hope that you will ever come to care for me?"

He was very pale, and seemed unable to say any more.

The little gush of vitality which had come into Evelyn as she ran
downstairs had left her, and she felt herself impotent. There was
nothing for her to say; she felt nothing. Now that he was actually
asking her, in his elderly gentle words, to marry him, she felt less for
him than she had ever felt before.

"Let's sit down and talk it over," she said rather unsteadily.

Mr. Perrott followed her to a curved green seat under a tree. They
looked at the fountain in front of them, which had long ceased to play.
Evelyn kept looking at the fountain instead of thinking of what she was
saying; the fountain without any water seemed to be the type of her own
being.

"Of course I care for you," she began, rushing her words out in a hurry;
"I should be a brute if I didn't. I think you're quite one of the nicest
people I've ever known, and one of the finest too. But I wish . . . I
wish y