“Yes.”

“And planned for it?”

“And planned for it!”

“Why didn’t you tell me so before?”

She answered haughtily; insisting on the respect which is due to women—­the respect which was doubly due from him, in her position.

“Because you owed it to me, Sir, to speak first.”

“Very well.  I’ve spoken first.  Will you wait a little?”

“Not a day!”

The tone was positive.  There was no mistaking it.  Her mind was made up.

“Where’s the hurry?”

“Have you eyes?” she asked, vehemently.  “Have you ears?  Do you see how Lady Lundie looks at me?  Do you hear how Lady Lundie speaks to me?  I am suspected by that woman.  My shameful dismissal from this house may be a question of a few hours.”  Her head sunk on her bosom; she wrung her clasped hands as they rested on her lap.  “And, oh, Blanche!” she moaned to herself, the tears gathering again, and falling, this time, unchecked.  “Blanche, who looks up to me!  Blanche, who loves me!  Blanche, who told me, in this very place, that I was to live with her when she was married!” She started up from the chair; the tears dried suddenly; the hard despair settled again, wan and white, on her face.  “Let me go!  What is death, compared to such a life as is waiting for me?” She looked him over, in one disdainful glance from head to foot; her voice rose to its loudest and firmest tones.  “Why, even you; would have the courage to die if you were in my place!”

Geoffrey glanced round toward the lawn.

“Hush!” he said.  “They will hear you!”

“Let them hear me!  When I am past hearing them, what does it matter?”

He put her back by main force on the chair.  In another moment they must have heard her, through all the noise and laughter of the game.

“Say what you want,” he resumed, “and I’ll do it.  Only be reasonable.  I can’t marry you to-day.”

“You can!”

“What nonsense you talk!  The house and grounds are swarming with company.  It can’t be!”

“It can!  I have been thinking about it ever since we came to this house.  I have got something to propose to you.  Will you hear it, or not?”

“Speak lower!”

“Will you hear it, or not?”

“There’s somebody coming!”

“Will you hear it, or not?”

“The devil take your obstinacy!  Yes!”

The answer had been wrung from him.  Still, it was the answer she wanted—­it opened the door to hope.  The instant he had consented to hear her her mind awakened to the serious necessity of averting discovery by any third person who might stray idly into the summer-house.  She held up her hand for silence, and listened to what was going forward on the lawn.

The dull thump of the croquet-mallet against the ball was no longer to be heard.  The game had stopped.

In a moment more she heard her own name called.  An interval of another instant passed, and a familiar voice said, “I know where she is.  I’ll fetch her.”