would steady her considerably when she heard that; she would be less flippant then.  Out of the corners of his eyes, he watched her face—­the little, round, childish face almost perfect in outline—­the gentle force, petulance almost, in the shapely chin, and the lips—­tantalizing—­they looked so innocent.  In another few moments he would be kissing those lips; in another few moments he would be feeling the warmth of that hand that lay idly over the railing.  He wondered if he were really wise.  Was he being carried away by the first flush of triumph which his success had brought him?  There was time to draw back yet.

“Well,” she said, “was that what you were going to tell me?”

He turned round and met her look; his eyes wandered over her face.  Those lips—­they were indescribably alluring.  It seemed impossible to give up the delight of kissing them; yet, of course, that was foolish, that was weak.  He was not going to let the whole of his life hang upon a momentary desire like that.  If she did not appeal to him in other ways, if he did not find admiration for her character, respect for her numerous good qualities, he would certainly not be so wanting in control as to let a passing inclination sway him to a momentous decision.  He recounted those good qualities to himself reassuringly.  Her innocence, her gentleness, her apparent willingness to be led by any one stronger than herself.  Mr. Arthur dwelt long on that.  That was a distinctly promising characteristic.  He would consider that essential in any woman whom he thought to make his wife.  Then she was demonstrative.  He had often seen her show signs of deep affection to Miss Hallard.  At the moment, that seemed a very necessary quality too.  He felt just then that a little demonstration of affection on her part—­if she put her hand in his, or leant her head up against his shoulder—­would make him intensely happy.  And those lips!  He half closed his eyes and his hand shook.

“No; that wasn’t all,” he said emotionally.  “That was only preliminary to what I’m going to say.”

Sally kept her eyes away from him.  She did not want to watch his face.  She knew he was very good, very honourable, very conscientious in his work; she knew that he would make a reasonably good husband, that he was about to offer her a position in life which it was incumbent upon any girl in her circumstances to consider well before refusing.  But she could not look at his face while these things were weighing out their balance in her mind.  It seemed hard enough to be compelled to listen to the sound of his voice; the weak, uncertain quality that it possessed, that faint suggestion of commonness which did not exactly admit of dropped aitches, but rang jarringly in her ears.

“I’m listening,” she said rigidly.  Her eyes were fixed without motion on the quiet water.

“Well, I want you to marry me,” he exclaimed impulsively.

She said nothing.  She waited.