“Are you very much occupied, Mr. Mannering,” she asked, lightly, “or could you spare me a moment?”

He stopped short.  Whatever surprise he may have felt he concealed.

“I am entirely at your service, Duchess,” he answered.  “Mr. Harrison will excuse me, I am sure,” he added, turning to his companion.

She rested her fingers upon his arm.  The house belonged to a relative of hers, and she knew where to find a quiet spot.  When they were alone she did not hesitate for a moment.

“Lawrence,” she said, quietly, “will you imagine for a moment that we are back again at Blakely?”

“I would to God we were!” he answered, impulsively.  “That is—­if you wish it too!”

She did not answer at once.  The sudden abnegation of his reserve took her by surprise.  She had to readjust her words.

“At least,” she said, “there are many things about Blakely which I regret all the time.  You know, of course, the chief one, our own altered selves.  I know, Lawrence, that I need to ask your forgiveness.  I came there under an assumed name, and I will admit that my coming was part of a scheme between Ronalds, Rochester and myself.  Well, I am ready to ask your forgiveness for that.  I don’t think you ought to refuse it me.  It doesn’t alter anything that happened.  It doesn’t even affect it.  You must believe that!”

“I believe it, if you tell me so,” he answered.

“I do tell you,” she declared.  “I can explain it all.  I am longing to have it all off my mind.  But first of all, there is just one thing which I want to ask you.”

His face as he looked towards her gave her almost a shock.  Very little was left of his healthy colouring.  Already there were lines under his eyes, and he was certainly thinner.  And there was something else which almost appalled her.  There was fear in his manner.  He sat like a man waiting for sentence, a man fore-doomed.

“I want to know,” she said, “what has brought you—­here.  I want to know what manner of persuasion has prevailed—­when mine was so ineffectual.  Don’t think that I am not glad that you decided as you did.  I am glad—­very.  You are in your rightful place, and I am only too thankful to hear about you, and read—­and watch.  But—­we are jealous creatures, we women, you know, and I want to know whose and what arguments prevailed, when mine were so very insufficient.”

He answered her without hesitation, but his tone was dull and spiritless.

“I cannot tell you!”

There was a short silence.  She gathered her skirts for a moment in her hand as though about to rise, but apparently changed her mind.  She waited for some time, and then she spoke again.

“Perhaps you think that I ought not to ask?”

He looked at her hopelessly.

“No, I don’t think that.  You have a right to ask.  But it doesn’t alter things, does it?  I can’t tell you.”

“You asked me to marry you.”