She is so silent, so calm, that doubts arise within him as to the success of his experiment—­for experiment it must be called.  He had bought in the old house expressly to please her the moment he was in a position to do so; had bought it, indeed, when she was showing a most settled determination to have nothing to do with him—­directly after her refusal to accept a competence at his hands.

And now, how will it be?  Her eyes are wandering round the room, noting each dear familiar object; at last they come to Rylton.

He is looking back at her—­a little sad, a little hopeless.  Their eyes meet.

Then all at once she gives way.  She runs to him, and flings herself into his open arms.

“To do this for me! This!” cries she.

She clings to him.  Her voice dies away.

She is lying on his breast.  He can feel her heart beating against his.  His arms tighten round her.

“Tita, you love me!” whispers he, in a low tone, passionately.

She feels so small a thing in his embrace—­a mere child of fourteen might be a bigger thing than she is.  The knowledge that she has grown very thin during their estrangement goes to his heart like a knife.  Oh, dear little, darling girl!

“You must love me—­you must," says he, holding her to him, as if he could never let her go. "Try to love me, Tita.”

Slowly, very slowly, she stirs within his arms.  She looks up at him.  It is such a strange look.  It transfigures the beautiful little face, making it even more beautiful than it was before.  But Maurice, who is hanging on it, to whom it means life or death, does not dare translate the expression.  It seems to him that she is going into all that intolerable past and reading his very soul.  God grant she may read it aright!

The strain grows too terrible; he breaks it.

“My darling, speak!” entreats he.

She wakes as if from a dream.

“Oh, I love you—­I do love you!” cries she.  She lays her hands against his breast, and leans back from him.  “I have loved you always, I think; but now I know it.  Oh, Maurice, love me too, and not her—­not her!"

* * * * *

It is half an hour later.  He has induced her to eat something; and at her request has eaten something himself—­as a fact, being both young, they were both extremely hungry, and are now feeling infinitely better.

“I want a fresh handkerchief,” says Tita, looking up at him shyly, but with a smile that shows all her pretty teeth. "See how you have made me cry!” She holds up the little damp rag that she has been using since her arrival.  “Give me one out of my bag.”

Opening her bag to get the handkerchief desired, something else falls to the floor—­a small thing.  He picks it up.

“Why, what is this?” says he.

“Oh, it is my——­ Give it to me.  It is my forget-me-not,” says she, colouring hotly.