“I very much dislike it!” he said, emphatically—­“But then I’m quite an unsociable person.  You see I’ve lived alone here for ten years—–­ "

“And you want to go on living alone for another ten years—­I see!” said Maryllia—­“Well!  So you shall!  I promise I won’t interfere!”

He looked at her half appealingly.

“I don’t think you understand,”—­he said,—­then paused.

“Oh yes, I understand perfectly!” And she smiled radiantly.  “You like to be left quite to yourself, with your books and flowers, and the bits of glass for the rose-window in the church.  By the bye, I must help you with that rose-window!  I will get you some genuine old pieces—­and if I find any very rare specimens of medieval blue or crimson you’ll be so pleased that you’ll forget all about that cigarette—­you know you will!”

“Miss Vancourt,”—­he began earnestly—­“if you will only believe that it is because I think so highly of you—­because you have seemed to me so much above the mere society woman that I—–­I—–­”

“I know!” she said, very softly—­“I quite see your point of view!”

“You are not of the modern world,”—­he went on, slowly—­“Not in your heart—­not in your real tastes and sentiments;—­not yet, though you may possibly be forced to become one with it after your marriage—–­”

“And when will that be?” she interrupted him smiling.

His clear, calm blue eyes rested upon her gravely and searchingly.

“Soon surely,—­if report be true!”

“Really?  Well, you ought to know whether the date has been fixed yet,”—­she said, very demurely—­“Because, of course you’ll have to marry me!”

Something swayed and rocked in John’s brain, making the ground he stood upon swerve and seem unsteady.  A wave of colour flushed his bronzed face up to the very roots of his grey-brown hair.  Maryllia watched him with prettily critical interest, much as a kitten watches the rolling out of a ball of worsted on which it has just placed its little furry paw.  Hurriedly he sought in his mind for something to say.

“I—–­I—–­don’t quite understand,”—­he murmured.

“Don’t you?” and she smiled upon him blandly—­“Surely you wouldn’t expect me to be married in any church but yours, or by any clergyman but you?”

“Oh, I see!” And Maryllia mentally commented—­’So do I!’—­while he heaved a sigh unconsciously, but whether of relief or pain it was impossible to tell.  Looking up, he met her eyes,—­so deep and blue, so strangely compassionate and tender!  A faint smile trembled on her lips.

“Good-night, Mr. Walden!”