She smiled, but her lips were quivering.  The man’s hands slowly clenched.

“That means you’re unhappy,” he said.

She nodded.  “I’ve been telling Jack that I must get away—­go and earn my own living somewhere.  He won’t hear of it.”

“I can understand that,” said Fletcher Hill.  “I wouldn’t—­in his place.”

She kept her eyes steadfastly raised to his.  “Do you know what Jack wants me to do?” she said.

“Yes.”  Hill spoke briefly, almost sternly.  “He wants you to marry me.”

She nodded again.  “Yes.”

He held out his hand to her abruptly.  “I want it, too,” he said.

She made no movement towards him.  “That is what you came to say?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Hill.

He waited a moment; then, as she did not take his hand, bent with a certain mastery and took one of hers.

“I’ve wanted it for years,” he said.

“Ah!” A little sound like a sob came with the words.  She made as if she would withdraw her hand, but in the end—­because he held it closely—­she suffered him to keep it.  She spoke with an effort.  “I—­think you ought to understand that—­that—­it is not my wish to marry at all.  If—­if Jack had stayed single, I—­should have been content to live on here for always.”

“Yes, I know,” said Hill.  “I saw that.”

She went on tremulously.  “I’ve always felt—­that a woman ought to be able to manage alone.  It’s very kind of you to want to marry me.  But—­but I—­I think I’m getting too old.”

“Is that the only obstacle?” asked Hill.

She tried to laugh, but it ended in a sound of tears.  She turned her face quickly aside.  “I can’t tell you—­of any other,” she said, with difficulty, “except—­except—­”

“Except that you don’t like me much?” he suggested dryly.  “Well, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that!” She choked back her tears and turned back to him.  “Let’s walk a little way together, shall we?  I—­I’ll try and explain—­just how I feel about things.”

He moved at once to comply.  They walked side by side over the close-cropped grass.  Dot would have slipped her hand free, but still he kept it.

They had traversed some yards before she spoke again, and then her voice was low and studiously even.

“I can’t pretend to you that there has never been anyone else.  It wouldn’t be right.  You probably wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

“Oh, I gathered that a long time ago,” Hill said.

“Yes, of course you did.  You always see everything, don’t you?  It’s your specialty.”

“I don’t go about with my eyes shut, certainly,” said Hill.

“I’m glad of that,” Dot said.  “I would rather you knew about it.  Only”—­her voice quivered again—­“I don’t know how to tell you.”

“You are sure you would rather I knew?” he said.

“Yes.”  She spoke with decision.  “You’ve got to know if—­if—­” She broke off.