“I do not doubt it, and therefore I desire that promise above all things.”

“But you would not desire the letter without the spirit?” said she eagerly.  “I dare not bind myself—­I dare not—­until I am certain of myself.”

“But, good Heavens!” said Marston Brent, who, although usually the most quiet and dignified of human beings, was now fairly driven to vehemence, “when do you mean to be certain of yourself?  Surely you have had time enough.  Can you not love me, Eleanor?” he asked a little wistfully.  “If that is it—­if that is the doubt that holds you back—­say so, and let me go.  Anything is better than suspense like this.”

But Eleanor was plainly not ready to say that.  She stood still for a moment, then turned to him with a sudden light of resolve in her eyes.  “You are right,” she said.  “This must end.  I may be weak and foolish, but I have no right to make you suffer for my weakness and my folly.  I pledge myself to tell you to-morrow night whether or not I can be your wife.  You will give me till then, will you not?  It is the last delay I shall ask.”

“I wish you would understand that you could not ask anything which I should not be glad to grant,” said he, a little sadly.  “For Heaven’s sake, do not think of me as your persecutor—­do not force yourself to answer me at any given time.  I can wait.”

“You have waited,” said she gratefully—­“waited too long already.  Do not encourage me in my weakness.  Believe that I will tell you to-morrow night my final decision.”

Later in the evening, Victor Clare was leaving the drawing-room as Miss Milbourne entered it.  They came face to face rather unexpectedly, and while the gentleman fell back, the lady extended her hand.

“Have you stayed away so long that you have forgotten your friends, Major Clare?” she said with a smile which was bright but rather tremulous, like a gleam of sunshine on rippling water.  “You have not even said good-evening to me, and yet you have an air as if you had said good-night to the rest of the company.”

“So I have,” answered Victor, smiling in turn, partly from the pleasure of meeting her, partly from the sheer magnetism of her glance, “but it is no fault of mine that I have not been able to speak to you:  I have found no opportunity.”

“But I thought you always said that; people made opportunities when they desired to do so?”

“Then the time has come for me to retract my assertion.  As a general rule, a man cannot make opportunities:  he can only take advantage of them when they come, as I hope to take advantage of the present,” he added smiling.

“But I thought you were going home?”

“I was going home a minute ago, but so long as you will let me talk to you I shall stay.”

“It is a very small favor to grant,” said Eleanor, blushing a little.  “But why were you leaving so early?”

“Partly because I had no hope of seeing you; partly because I am not a ‘young duke’ to pencil a line to my steward and know that a princely collation will be served at noon to-morrow for half a hundred, or even for a dozen or two people.”