But instead he left her, hurt and humiliated and desolate, to sit half crouched by herself, whilst her eyes, against all striving, slowly veered round to the shrub.

He held her hand, it is true, whilst he talked, but what good is that to a frightened woman whose heart is crying for protection, and whose body is clamouring to be forced into submission?

“Dear,” he said as Leonie stared at the poinsettia bush, “I am on the track at last, and in a very little time shall know exactly what happened to you all those years ago.  There is only one link missing, and that I shall surely find, as I find everything when I set my mind to it.  Then the whole thing will be cleared up, and this mysterious cloud lifted from you.  Look at me, dear!” Leonie turned and looked at him blankly, and as he continued speaking, slowly, and as though against her will, turned her eyes back to the poinsettia bush.  “I want you now in your distress.  I want you in the storm as well as in the sunshine, dear; I love to see you smile, it would be heaven to make you smile.  Marry me, beloved, now.  Dear, won’t you?  Let me lift the cloud from my wife.  Oh!  Leonie, think of it—­my wife!”

Leonie answered mechanically, as though she were repeating a lesson and had not heard one word of the man’s pleading.

“What have you found out?  And what is missing?”

“I have found the woman who was your ayah.”

Leonie pulled her hands away, and pushing the hair off her forehead, sat quite still listening, but not hearing the music as it floated through the night air, watching without seeing the couples as they strolled about the grounds.

And then she answered, but without any real interest, although very distinctly, shivering slightly as the man put the wrap over her bare shoulders.

“Have you?  And who is she, really?  Of course I know her name—­but—­but what do you know about her?  I have had no answer to my letters since I’ve been out here, is the poor thing still working?”

“She’s—­not exactly working for a living, dear, and she is—­is——­”

He stopped short with a world of perplexity in his eyes, then went on as slowly and mechanically as Leonie had done.

“Perhaps, dear, I—­I had—­better not say any more until—­until I have everything quite clear.”

And he drew his hand sharply across his eyes as Leonie sighed.

“Very well!” she replied gently.  “Just as you think best.”

“Tell me you love me, Leonie, let me be sure of that, let me just hear you say it once.”

She put out both her hands, and he took them and kissed them.

“Dear, do you count me as so little?  Don’t you know, cannot you feel that a love like mine endures for ever?”

“Do you still want the little white house behind the white wall—­Leonie, do you!”

“Oh!  Jan!”