After all, why not?  As Elisabeth had said, she would be robbing no one by so doing.  The man for whom had been reserved the place in the sacred inner temple of her heart had signified very clearly that he had no intention of claiming it.

No other would ever enter in his stead; the doors of that innermost sanctuary would be kept closed, shutting in only the dead ashes of remembrance.  But if entrance to the outer courts of the temple meant so much to Tim, why should she not make him free of them?  That other had come and gone again, having no need of her, while Tim’s need was great.

Life, at the moment stretched in front of her very vague and purposeless, and she knew that by marrying Tim she would make three people whom she loved, and who mattered most to her in the whole world—­Tim, and Elisabeth, and Geoffrey—­supremely happy.  No one need suffer except herself—­and for her there was no escape from suffering either way.

So it came about that when, as her visit drew towards its close, Tim came to her and asked her once again to be his wife, she gave him an answer which by no stretch of the imagination could she have conceived as possible a short three weeks before.

She was very frank with him.  She was determined that if he married her, it must be open-eyed, recognizing that she could only give him honest liking in return for love.  Upon a foundation of sincerity some mutual happiness might ultimately be established, but there should be no submerged rock of ignorance and misunderstanding on which their frail barque of matrimonial happiness might later founder in a sea of infinite regret.

“Are you willing to take me—­like that?” she asked him.  “Knowing that I can only give you friendship?  I wish—­I wish I could give you what you ask—­but I can’t.”

Tim’s eyes searched hers for a long moment.

“Is there some one else?” he asked at last.

A wave of painful colour flooded her face, then ebbed away, leaving it curiously white and pinched-looking, but her eyes still met his bravely.

“There is—­no one who will ever want your place, Tim,” she said with an effort.

The sight of her evident distress hurt him intolerably.

“Forgive me!” he exclaimed quickly.  “I had no right to ask that question.”

“Yes, you had,” she replied steadily, “since you have asked me to be your wife.”

“Well, you’ve answered it—­and it doesn’t make a bit of difference.  I want you.  I’ll take what you can give me, Sara.  Perhaps, some day, you’ll be able to give me love as well.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t count on that, Tim.  Friendship, understanding, the comradeship which, after all, can mean a good deal between a man and woman—­all these I can give you.  And if you think those things are worth while, I’ll marry you.  But—­I’m not in love with you.”

“You will be—­I’m sure it’s catching,” he declared with the gay, buoyant confidence which was one of his most endearing qualities.