“Jolly knows about our riding.”

“Is he in?”

“No; but I expect he will be soon.”

“Then!” cried Val, and diving forward, he seized her hand.  She tried to withdraw it, failed, gave up the attempt, and looked at him wistfully.

“First of all,” he said, “I want to tell you something about my family.  My Dad, you know, isn’t altogether—­I mean, he’s left my mother and they’re trying to divorce him; so they’ve ordered him to come back, you see.  You’ll see that in the paper to-morrow.”

Her eyes deepened in colour and fearful interest; her hand squeezed his.  But the gambler in Val was roused now, and he hurried on: 

“Of course there’s nothing very much at present, but there will be, I expect, before it’s over; divorce suits are beastly, you know.  I wanted to tell you, because—­because—­you ought to know—­if—­” and he began to stammer, gazing at her troubled eyes, “if—­if you’re going to be a darling and love me, Holly.  I love you—­ever so; and I want to be engaged.”  He had done it in a manner so inadequate that he could have punched his own head; and dropping on his knees, he tried to get nearer to that soft, troubled face.  “You do love me—­don’t you?  If you don’t I....”  There was a moment of silence and suspense, so awful that he could hear the sound of a mowing-machine far out on the lawn pretending there was grass to cut.  Then she swayed forward; her free hand touched his hair, and he gasped:  “Oh, Holly!”

Her answer was very soft:  “Oh, Val!”

He had dreamed of this moment, but always in an imperative mood, as the masterful young lover, and now he felt humble, touched, trembly.  He was afraid to stir off his knees lest he should break the spell; lest, if he did, she should shrink and deny her own surrender—­so tremulous was she in his grasp, with her eyelids closed and his lips nearing them.  Her eyes opened, seemed to swim a little; he pressed his lips to hers.  Suddenly he sprang up; there had been footsteps, a sort of startled grunt.  He looked round.  No one!  But the long curtains which barred off the outer hall were quivering.

“My God!  Who was that?”

Holly too was on her feet.

“Jolly, I expect,” she whispered.

Val clenched fists and resolution.

“All right!” he said, “I don’t care a bit now we’re engaged,” and striding towards the curtains, he drew them aside.  There at the fireplace in the hall stood Jolly, with his back elaborately turned.  Val went forward.  Jolly faced round on him.

“I beg your pardon for hearing,” he said.

With the best intentions in the world, Val could not help admiring him at that moment; his face was clear, his voice quiet, he looked somehow distinguished, as if acting up to principle.

“Well!” Val said abruptly, “it’s nothing to you.”

“Oh!” said Jolly; “you come this way,” and he crossed the hall.  Val followed.  At the study door he felt a touch on his arm; Holly’s voice said: