“I begin to hate Uncle George!” says Rylton.  “You see how you are demoralizing me!  But, surely, if you cannot live in peace with him, there must be others—­other relations—­who would be glad to chaperone you!”

“No,” says the girl, shaking her head sadly.  “For one thing, I have no relations—­at least, none who could look after me; and, for another, by my father’s will, I must stay with Uncle George until my marriage.”

“Until your marriage!” Sir Maurice laughs.  “Forgive me!  I should not have laughed,” says he, “especially as your emancipation seems a long way off.”

Really, looking at her in the subdued lights of those pink lamps, she seems a mere baby.

“I don’t see why it should be so far off,” says Tita, evidently affronted.  “Lots of girls get married at seventeen; I’ve heard of people who were married at sixteen!  But they must have been fools.  No?  I don’t want to be married, though, if I did, I should be able to get rid of Uncle George.  But what I should like to do would be to run away!”

“Where?” asks Rylton, rather abominably, it must be confessed.

“Oh, I don’t know,” confusedly.  “I haven’t thought it out.”

“Well, don’t," says he kindly.

“That is what everyone would say,” impatiently.  “In the meantime, I cannot go on living with my uncle.  No; I can’t.”  She leans back, and, flinging her arms behind her neck, looks with a little laughing pout at Rylton.  “Some day I shall do something dreadful,” says she.

She is charming, posing so.  Rylton looks at her.  How pretty she is!  How guileless!  How far removed from worldly considerations!  His affair with Marian is at an end.  Never to be renewed!  That is settled.  He had given her a last word, and she had spurned it.

After all, why should he not marry this charming child?  The marriage would please his mother, and restore the old name to something of its ancient grandeur.  And as for himself—­why, it matters nothing to him.

“It is all over.  It is all over.”

Again that teasing voice in his ear.

Well, if it is all over, so much to the good.  But as for this girl sitting near him, if he must take her to be his wife, it shall be at least in good faith.  She shall know all.  Probably she will refuse him.  For one thing, because he is ten years older than she is—­a century in the eyes of a child of seventeen; and, for another, because she may not like him at all.  For all he knows, she may hate him as she hates her uncle George, in certain ways.

However it is, he will tell her that he has no love for her.  It shall be all fair and above-board between them.  He can give her a title.  She can give him money, without which the title would be useless.

On the instant he makes up his mind to risk the proposal.  In all probability she will say “No” to it.  But if not—­if she accepts him—­he swears to himself he will be true to her.