Last evening, therefore, when he called I received him in the drawing-room and explained that Netta and Henry had gone out to the theatre.  He at once made for the door, saying in that case he would not stop, but I intercepted him.  Closing the door, I said gently, ’I am going to ask you to keep me company for an hour—­if,’ I added archly, ‘it won’t bore you.’

In a confused sort of way he assured me it would not, and he sat down and dropped into the silence that is becoming habitual when we are left alone together.

I knitted and he pulled hard at his cigarette.  At last I said:  ’Why don’t you smoke a pipe, Mr. Rawlings?  I know you prefer it.’

‘No, no,’ he said vehemently, ’I would much rather have a cigarette.  It’s a cleaner habit than pipe-smoking, isn’t it?’

I smiled faintly and mentally decided that when we were married I would not allow him to deprive himself of one of his greatest joys for my sake.

There was another long silence and then, feeling extremely nervous, I murmured haltingly, ’I—­I—­wonder if you missed me when I was away nursing my great sick aunt—­I—­I—­mean my sick great-aunt.  Did—­did—­the time seem long?’

‘I—­I’m not quite sure,’ he stammered, obviously as ill at ease as myself.  ’You see, to be perfectly frank, Miss Warrington, I was at the time in love as far as I believe, and it seems a confused period.’

I waited for him to continue, my eyes discreetly lowered.  As, however, he did not go on, I raised them again.

‘Yes?’ I said encouragingly.

‘That’s all,’ he replied.  He looked so embarrassed and unhappy, and wore such an imploring expression I realized that now or never I must come to his relief.

I laid down my knitting and leaned forward.  ‘Mr. Rawlings,’ I said impressively—­’or, shall I say William—­I have known of the state of your feelings towards me for some time now.’

He raised his head, and there was no disguising the look of hope in his eye.  ‘Do you really mean that?’ he asked eagerly.

I nodded.  ’I want to tell you not to be afraid.  However harsh I once seemed to you, the sight of your devotion and self-sacrifice has touched me.’

‘Devotion—­self-sacrifice,’ he murmured in a wondering tone.

’As such do I regard them, William.  But they have reaped their reward.  I . . . how shall I tell you . . . it is so difficult . . .’

I paused in some distress, wondering if Queen Victoria had felt as uncomfortable about it as I did.

‘I want to tell you that . . .  I love you, William,’ I said at last, very softly.

There was an intense silence, broken only by his laboured breathing.  The intensity of his emotions was evidently too much for him.

‘And so,’ I concluded, raising my eyes to his for a moment, ’I am going to be your wife.’

There!  It was out at last.  Having spoken I lowered my eyes again and did not look at him until I heard him say in a strained kind of voice, ’But—­but—­this is too much honour.  Believe me, Miss Warrington, I am not worthy——­’