He took her at her word at once.  “Thank you,” he said.  “Now, do you remember a certain conversation that took place between us six months ago?”

“I remember,” she said.

An odd sense of powerlessness had taken possession of her, and she knew it had become visible to him, for she saw his face alter.

“I know I’m ugly,” he said, abruptly; “but I’m not frowning, believe me.”

She understood the allusion and laughed rather faintly.  “I’m not afraid of you, Lord Wyverton,” she said.

He smiled at her.  “Thank you,” he said.  “That’s kind.  I’m coming to the point.  There are just two questions I have to ask you, and I’ve done.  First, have they told you that I’m a ruined man?”

Molly’s face became troubled.  “Yes,” she said.  “Lady Caryl told me.  I was very sorry—­for you.”

She uttered the last two words with a conscious effort.  He was mastering her in some subtle fashion, drawing her by some means irresistible.  She felt almost as if some occult force were at work upon her.  He did not thank her for her sympathy.  Without comment he passed on to his second question.

“And are you still disposed to be generous?” he asked her, with a directness that surpassed her own.  “Is your offer—­that splendid offer of yours—­still open?  Or have you changed your mind?  You mustn’t pity me overmuch.  I have enough to live on—­enough for two”—­he smiled again that pleasant, sudden smile of his—­“if you will do the cooking and polish the front-door knob.”

“What will you do?” demanded Molly, with a new-found independence of tone that his light manner made possible.

“I shall clean the boots,” he answered, promptly, “or swab the floors, or, it may be”—­he bent slightly towards her, and she saw a new light in his eyes as he ended—­“it may be, stand by my wife to lift the saucepan off the fire, or do all her other little jobs when she is tired.”

Again, and more strongly, she felt that he was drawing her, and she knew that she was going—­going into deep waters in which his hand alone could hold her up.  She stood before him silently.  Her heart was beating very fast.  The surging of the deep sea was in her ears.  It almost frightened her, though she knew she had no cause to fear.

And then, suddenly, his hands were upon her shoulders and his eyes were closely searching her face.

“I offer you myself, Molly,” he said, and there was ringing passion in his voice, though he controlled it.  “I loved you from the moment you offered to marry me.  Is not that enough?”

Yes; it was enough.  The mastery of it rolled in upon her in a full flood-tide that no power of reasoning could withstand.  She drew one long, gasping breath—­and yielded.  The splendour of that moment was greater than anything she had ever known.  Its intensity was almost too vivid to be borne.