d Blenavon tell you--"

"That you had promised to marry Colonel Mostyn Ray. Yes."

"That is very strange," she said thoughtfully. "Blenavon is not as a
rule needlessly communicative, and at present it is almost a secret."

"Nevertheless," I said, turning slowly towards her, "I presume that it
is true."

"It is perfectly true," she answered.

There was silence between us for several minutes. One of the footmen
came softly in to see whether we required a marker, and finding us
talking, withdrew. I was determined that the onus of further speech
should remain with her.

"You are surprised?" she asked at last.

"Very."

"And why?"

"I scarcely know," I answered, "except that I have never associated the
thought of marriage with Colonel Ray, and he is very much older than
you."

"Yes, he is a great deal older," she answered. "I think that his
history has been rather a sad one. He was in love for many years with a
woman who married--some one else. I have always felt sorry for him ever
since I was a little girl."

"Do you know who that woman was?"

"I have never heard her name," she answered.

I found courage to lift my eyes and look at her.

"May I ask when you are going to be married?"

Her eyes fell. The question did not seem to please her.

"I do not know," she said. "We have not spoken of that yet. Everything
is very vague."

"Colonel Ray is coming down here, of course?" I remarked.

"Not to my knowledge," she declared. "Not at any rate until the next
meeting of the Council. I shall be back in town before then."

"I begin to believe," I said, with a grim smile, "that your brother was
right."

"My brother right?"

"He finds you enigmatic! You become engaged to a man one day, and you
leave him the next--without apparent reason."

She was obviously disturbed. A slight wave of trouble passed over her
face. Her eyes failed to meet mine.

"That I cannot altogether explain to you," she said. "There are reasons
why I should come, but apart from them this place is very dear to me. I
think that whenever anything has happened to me I have wanted to be
here. You are a man, and you will not altogether understand this."

"Why not?" I protested. "We, too, have our sentiment, the sentiment of
places as well as of people. If I could choose where to die I think
that it would be here, with my windows wide open and the roar of the
incoming tide in my ears."

"For a young man," she remarked, looking across at m