I sat late that night, dreaming not only of the pure, sweet girl I had won, but of the woman whose burning tears had fallen on my hands.  What harm could she do if she tried?  What did she mean by being richly dowered?  Had she any fortune that I did not know of?  Her words were mysterious.  Strange to say, the same nervous forebodings that had seized Clare seized me.

Evil would come of it; how or why I could not imagine, but it would come.  I felt it gathering round me; then I laughed at myself, at my own foolish fancy.

Yet the same fancy had shaken me so that when I went into Clare’s room to say “Good night,” she asked me if I were ill, and would not be satisfied until I laughingly told her my happiness had been too much for me.

I felt shy as a girl the next morning at the thought of coming downstairs to meet mademoiselle.  Nor was I quite devoid of some little fear.  Would she be sorrowful, resigned, pathetic, angry, or what?  It was impossible to tell.

Imagine my surprise on opening the breakfast-room door to find her already at the table, looking blooming and beautiful as a June rose.  She greeted me gayly, with bright smiles and bright words.  I might have thought all the passion, the sorrow and despair of last night a dream.

Only too happy to imitate her, I began to talk of a score of indifferent matters.  About everything she had some piquant, bright words to say.  By the time breakfast was ended I had really begun to think I must have dreamed the most unpleasant scene.

Yet I thought to myself that I must be guarded.  I must continue to be kind to her because she had no other friends, but all kindness shown to her must be of the true, cousinly type.

This morning, instead of lingering with her while she went through the conservatories, as had been my idle fashion, I went at once into Clare’s room.  Coralie noticed the change, for her face grew pale as I quitted the room.

Some weeks passed without anything happening.  I went over to Harden Manor every day.  The sun never set without my seeing Agatha, and every day I loved her more and more.

She was so simple, so tender, so true; now that she had promised to be my wife, there was no idle coquetry about her, no affection of shyness.  She was simply perfect, and it seemed to me that by some wonderful miracle I had reached the golden land at last.

Then I began to agitate for an early marriage.  Why wait?  Lady Thesiger told me laughingly that there was much to do at Crown Anstey before I could take my wife home.

“Remember,” she said, “that before your sister came there had been no ladies at the Hall for some years.  The late Lady Trevelyan died sixteen years ago.”

I saw that she had completely forgotten the existence of mademoiselle, and did not care to remind her of it.

“You will want to refurnish a suite of rooms for Agatha,” she continued; “and there will really be so much to do that if we say Christmas for the wedding, that will be quite soon enough.”