He came quickly across the hall, and stood by her.  Then he said slowly, “I’m wondering, wondering, wondering if I shall ever be in this house again!”

“You must think it well over,” she began.

But he cut her short.  “It depends on you whether Doryford becomes my home or not.”

“On me?” she repeated, troubled.  “Don’t trust to my taste as much as that, Godfrey.”

“But you do like it?” he asked insistently.

“Of course I like it.  If it comes to that, I don’t know that I’ve ever been in so beautiful and perfect a house.  And then, well perhaps because we’ve everything so shabby at Old Place, I do like to see everything in such apple-pie order!”

A little disappointed, he went on, “I fear it isn’t your ideal house, Betty?  Not your house of dreams?”

And then, all at once, she knew that she couldn’t answer him, for tears had welled up in her eyes, and choked her speech.

Her house of dreams?  Betty Tosswill’s house of dreams had vanished, she thought, for ever, so very long ago.  Betty’s house of dreams had been quite a small house—­but such a cosy, happy place, full of the Godfrey of long ago, and of good, delicious dream children....

She turned her head away.

“Well,” he exclaimed, “that’s that!  We won’t think about this house again.  We’ll go and look at another place to-morrow.”

His matter-of-fact, rather cross, tone made her pull herself together.  What a baby he was after all!

“Don’t be absurd, Godfrey.  I don’t believe if we were to look England through, that I should see a house I thought more delightful than this house.  I’m a little overawed by it, that’s all!  You see I’ve never dwelt in marble halls—­”

“Oh, one gets used to that!”

“Yes, I expect one does.”

“Whether I buy this place depends on you,” he said obstinately.

“Well, then, if I’m to decide, I say buy it!” She turned and smiled at him a little tremulously, keeping her head well down—­her face shadowed by the deep brim of her motor-bonnet.

More and more was this like a scene out of a dream to Betty Tosswill.  In a way, it was, of course, natural that she and Godfrey should be alone, and that he should turn to her as his closest friend.  And yet it seemed strange and unnatural, too.  But Betty had a very generous nature—­and to this man, who was looking at her with such an eager, searching look, she felt in a peculiar relation.  So she repeated, with greater ease and lightness, “Let’s settle, here and now, that this is to be the future residence of Godfrey Radmore, Esquire!  Timmy’s a little bit like a cat, you know.  He’ll simply adore this house.  He’ll love all the pretty things in it.  Perhaps you’d run him up in the motor presently, while I stay with the little girl and that nice woman?”

And then all at once he took a step forward and roughly took her two hands in his:  “Betty,” he said, “don’t you understand?  I shall never enter this house again unless you’re willing to come and share it with me.  No place would be home to me without you in it.  Why, Old Place is only home now because you’re there.”