“No.”  Elisabeth replied with the utmost composure.  “Tim comes first.  But”—­and suddenly her voice melted to an indescribable sweetness—­“You would be almost one with him in my heart, because you had brought him happiness.”  She paused, then launched her question with a delicate hesitancy that skillfully concealed all semblance of the probe.  “Tell me—­is there any one else who has asked of you what Tim asks?  Perhaps I have come too late with my plea?”

Sara shook her head.

“No,” she said flatly, “there is no one else.”  With a sudden bitter self-mockery she added:  “Tim’s is the only proposal of marriage I have to my credit.”

The repressed anxiety with which Elisabeth had been regarding her relaxed, and a curious look of content took birth in the hyacinth eyes.  It was as though the bitterness of Sara’s answer in some way reassured her, serving her purpose.

“Then can’t you give Tim what he wants?  You will be robbing no one.  Sara”—­her low voice vibrated with the urgency of her desire—­“promise me at least that you will think it over—­that you will not dismiss the idea as though it were impossible?”

Sara half rose; her eyes, wide and questioning, were fixed upon Elisabeth’s.

“But why—­why do you ask me this?” she faltered.

“Because I think”—­very softly—­“that Tim himself will ask you the same thing before very long.  And I can’t face what it will mean to him if you send him away. . . .  You would be happy with him, Sara.  No woman could live with Tim and not grow to love him—­certainly no woman whom Tim loved.”

The depth of her conviction imbued her words with a strange force of suggestion.  For the first time the idea of marriage with Tim presented itself to Sara as a remotely conceivable happening.

Hitherto she had looked upon his love for her as something which only touched the outer fringe of her life—­a temporary disturbance of the good-comradely relations that had existed between them.  With the easy optimism of a woman whose heart has always been her own exclusive property she had hoped he would “get over it.”

But now Elisabeth’s appeal, and the knowledge of the pain of love, which love itself had taught her, quickened her mind to a new understanding.  Perhaps Elisabeth felt her yield to the impression she had been endeavoring to create, for she rose and came and stood quite close to her, looking down at her with shining eyes.

“Give my son his happiness!” she said.  And the eternal supplication of all motherhood was in her voice.

Sara made no answer.  She sat very still, with bent head.  Presently there came the sound of light footsteps as Elisabeth crossed the room, and, a moment later, the door closed softly behind her.

She had thrust a new responsibility on Sara’s shoulders—­the responsibility of Tim’s happiness.

“Give my son his happiness!” The poignant appeal of the words rang in Sara’s ears.