“Are you going to marry him?”

“Have I not told you so?”

He turned from her and took one short, quick turn across the square.  Like every man in his position, he felt outraged and indignant, without pausing to consider how infinitely more inexorable the laws of society are with regard to women than to men. He could put Mrs. Lancaster’s fortune aside and go his way—­to Egypt or to the dogs—­without anybody crying out against his criminal folly, his criminal disregard of the duties and traditions of his class.  But if Eleanor Milbourne put Marston Brent’s princely fortune aside and disappointed all her friends, what remained to her but the bitter condemnation of those friends in particular and of society in general?

When he came back she rose to meet him, making a picture worth remembering as she stood in her graceful youth and picturesque habit by the broken fountain, with the sombre cedar hedge behind and the intense azure of the summer sky above.

“Let us go,” she said.  “By prolonging this we only give ourselves useless pain.  All is said that can be said.  Nothing remains now but to forget; and that can best be done in silence.  Victor, let us go.”

There was a tone of pathos, a tone as if she was not quite sure of herself, in those last words, which made Clare refrain from answering her.  He turned silently, and they entered a green alley which led to the foot of the terrace surrounding the house.  As they walked along, Marston Brent’s figure appeared at the end of the vista, advancing toward them, and it was this apparition which first made Clare speak:  “If you will not think me fanciful—­I am sure you will not think me presumptuous—­promise me that before you give that man his answer you will share the lotos with me of which you have spoken.  I may be superstitious, but I feel as if we shall gain new strength with which to face the future after we have together renounced the past.”

She shook her head.  “I am not superstitious enough to think that it will enable us to forget one pang,” she said.  “But if you desire it, I promise.”

When the afternoon shadows were lengthening the party from The Willows set forth again, and reached the foot of the mountain a little before sunset, making the ascent in time to see the day-god’s last radiance streaming over the fair, broad expanse of country beneath them.  There was a small cabin on the summit which was to be devoted to the ladies, and round the camp-fire which was soon sparkling brightly the gentlemen proposed to spend the night on the blankets with which they were all plentifully provided.  Meanwhile, the party, dividing into groups and pairs, were soon scattered here and there, perched on the highest points of rock, enjoying the cool, fresh air which came as a message of love from the glowing west, and chattering like a chorus of magpies.