“Did—­did you hear—­everything?” she asked again.

“I am afraid I did,” I confessed humbly, “but I am going to forget.”

“No, that is not necessary.  I am not sure I am altogether sorry that you overheard.”

“But I am—­at least, a part of what I overheard struck me rather hard.”

“What was that?”

“Your reference to me.  Billie, I had been dreaming dreams.”

Her eyes dropped, the long lashes shading them.

“But I had previously warned you,” she said at last, very soberly.  “You knew how impossible such a thought was; you were aware of my engagement.”

“Yes, and I also knew Le Gaire.  All I hoped for was time, sufficient time for you to discover his character.  He is no bug-a-boo to me any longer, nor shall any tie between you keep me from speaking.  As I have told you I did not come here expecting to meet you—­not even knowing this was your home—­yet you have been in my mind all through the night, and what has occurred yonder between you and that fellow has set me free.  Do you know what I mean to do?”

“No, of course not; only—­”

“Only I must believe what you said about me to him; only I must continue to respect an agreement which has been wrung out of you by threat.  I refuse to be bound.  I know now the one thing I wanted most to know, Billie—­that you do not love him.  Oh, you can never make me think that again—­”

“Stop!” and she was looking straight at me again.  “I shall listen to you no longer, Lieutenant Galesworth.  I cannot deny the truth of much which you have said, but it is not generous of you to thus take advantage of what was overheard.  It was merely a quarrel, and not to be taken seriously.  He is coming back, and—­and I am going to marry him.”

There was a little catch in her voice, yet she finished the sentence bravely enough, flinging the words at me in open defiance.

“When?  To-night?”

“Yes, immediately, as soon as Captain Le Gaire can confer with my father.”

I smiled, not wholly at ease, yet confident I knew her struggle.

“You might deceive some one else, Miss Billie,” I said quietly, “and perhaps if I were not here this programme might indeed be carried out—­I believe Le Gaire is cur enough to insist upon it.  But I am here, and you are not going to marry him, unless you tell me with your own lips that you love the man.”

She stared into my eyes, as though doubting my sanity.

“Will you consent to say that?”

“I deny your right to even ask.”

“Yet I shall take silence as a negative, and act accordingly.  No, you will not hate me for it; you may imagine you do for the moment, but the time will come when your heart will thank me for interference, for saving you from a foolish sacrifice.  You do not love Le Gaire; you cannot look me in the eyes and say that you do.”

“You are impertinent, ungentlemanly.  I simply refuse to answer a question you have no right to ask.”