And Mrs. Blenkiron told Rowcliffe on the Wednesday before Alice told him.

For it was Alice who told him, and not Gwenda.  Gwenda was not at home when he called at the Vicarage at three o’clock.  But he heard from Alice that she would be back at four.

And it was Alice who told Mrs. Gale that when the doctor called again he was to be shown into the study.

He had waited there thirteen minutes before Gwenda came to him.

He looked at her and was struck by a difference he found in her, a difference that recalled some look in her face that he had seen before.  It was dead white, and in its whiteness her blue eyes, dark and dilated, quivered with defiance and a sort of fear.  She looked older and at the same time younger, as young as Alice and as helpless in her fear.  Then he remembered that she had looked like that the night she had passed him in the doorway of the house at Upthorne.

“How cold your hands are,” he said.

She hid them behind her back as if they had betrayed her.

“Do you want to see me about Ally?”

“No, I don’t want to see you about Ally.  I want to see you about yourself.”

Her eyes quivered again.

“Won’t you come into the drawing-room, then?”

“I’d rather stay here if you don’t mind.  I say, how much time have I?”

“Till when?”

“Well—­till your father comes back?”

“He won’t be back for another hour.  But—­”

“I hear you’re going away on Friday; and that you’re going for good.”

“Did Mary tell you?”

“No.  It was Alice.  She said I was to try and stop you.”

“You can’t stop me if I want to go.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They stood, as they talked, in rigid attitudes that suggested that neither was going to yield an inch.

“Why didn’t you tell me yourself, Gwenda?”

She closed her eyes.  It was as if she had forgotten why.

“Was it because you knew I wouldn’t let you?  Did you want to go as much as all that?”

“It looks like it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.  But you don’t want to go a bit.”

“Would I go if I didn’t?”

“Yes.  It’s just the sort of thing you would do, if you thought it would annoy me.  It’s only what you’ve been doing for the last three months—­getting away from me.”

“Three months—?”

“Oh, I cared for you before that.  It’s only the last three months I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“You never told me anything.”

“Because you never gave me a chance.  You kept on putting me off.”

“And if I did, didn’t that show that I didn’t want you to tell me?  I don’t want you to tell me now.”

He made an impatient movement.

“But you knew without telling.  You knew then.”

“I didn’t.  I didn’t.”

“Well, then, you know now.  Will you marry me or will you not?  I want it straight.”