Her whole
frame shook with convulsive weeping, and then suddenly a little white
hand shot out towards me. She did not look up, but the hand was there,
timid, yet inviting. I dropped on my knee by her side, and I held it in
mine.

"Dear Lady Angela," I murmured. "You must not give way like this, you
must not! Ray is not used to women, and you are very young. But he
loves you, I know that he loves you."

"I don't--want him to love me," she sobbed. "Oh, I know that I am
foolish and wicked and childish, but I am afraid of him."

I kept silence, for my own battle was a hard one. The little hand was
holding fast to mine. She lay curled up in the corner of the chair, her
face hidden, her slim delicate figure shaking every now and then with
sobs. All the while I longed passionately to take her into my arms and
comfort her.

"Don't!" I begged. "Oh, don't. Ray has told me his story. He has made
me his confidant. He has told me how unhappy he has been, and how he
loves you. Oh, Lady Angela, what is there I can say? What can I do?"

I was losing my head a little, I think, for her fingers were gripping
mine convulsively, warm and tender little fingers which seemed to be
drawing me all the while closer to her.

"I am so miserable," she murmured.

Then suddenly her other arm was around my neck, her wet tear-stained
face was pressed to mine. I scarcely knew how it happened, but I knew
that she was in my arms, and my lips were pressed to hers. A sudden,
beautiful wave of colour flooded her cheeks; she smiled gladly up at me.
She gave a delicious little sigh of satisfaction and then buried her
face on my shoulder. Almost at the same moment Ray entered the room.

She did not at once raise her head, although she pushed me gently away
from her at the sound of the opening door. But I, who was standing
facing that direction, saw him from the first, a dark stern figure,
standing as though rooted to the ground, with the doorhandle still in
his hand. For the second time in one day he seemed to have intervened
at the precise psychological moment. He did not speak to me, nor I to
him. Lady Angela, as though wondering at the silence, turned her head
at last, and a little gasping cry broke from her lips.

"Mostyn," she exclaimed. "Is that you?"

For answer he turned towards the wall and flooded the room with electric
light. Then he looked at us both intently and mercilessly; only this
time I saw that much of his wonderful self-control wa