, because I wished you to know that
I have made up my mind to marry Hambleton Durrett."

"Hambleton Durrett!" I echoed stupidly. "Hambleton Durrett!"

"Why not?"

"Have you--have you accepted him?"

"No. But I mean to do so."

"You--you love him?"

"I don't see what right you have to ask."

"But you just said that you invited me here to talk frankly."

"No, I don't love him."

"Then why, in heaven's name, are you going to marry him?"

She lay back in her chair, regarding me, her lips slightly parted. All at
once the full flavour of her, the superfine quality was revealed after
years of blindness.--Nor can I describe the sudden rebellion, the
revulsion that I experienced. Hambleton Durrett! It was an outrage, a
sacrilege! I got up, and put my hand on the mantel. Nancy remained
motionless, inert, her head lying back against the chair. Could it be
that she were enjoying my discomfiture? There is no need to confess that
I knew next to nothing of women; had I been less excited, I might have
made the discovery that I still regarded them sentimentally. Certain
romantic axioms concerning them, garnered from Victorian literature,
passed current in my mind for wisdom; and one of these declared that they
were prone to remain true to an early love. Did Nancy still care for me?
The query, coming as it did on top of my emotion, brought with it a
strange and overwhelming perplexity. Did I really care for her? The many
years during which I had practised the habit of caution began to exert an
inhibiting pressure. Here was a situation, an opportunity suddenly thrust
upon me which might never return, and which I was utterly unprepared to
meet. Would I be happy with Nancy, after all? Her expression was still
enigmatic.

"Why shouldn't I marry him?" she demanded.

"Because he's not good enough for you."

"Good!" she exclaimed, and laughed. "He loves me. He wants me without
reservation or calculation." There was a sting in this. "And is he any
worse," she asked slowly, "than many others who might be mentioned?"

"No," I agreed. I did not intend to be led into the thankless and
disagreeable position of condemning Hambleton Durrett. "But why have you
waited all these years if you did not mean to marry a man of ability, a
man who has made something of himself?"

"A man like you, Hugh?" she said gently.

I flushed.

"That isn't quite fair, Nancy."

"What are you working for?" she suddenly inquired, straightening up.

"Wh