'I'm glad,' said Victoria. She was not. The monstrous stupidity of a system which suddenly places a man in a position enabling him to live on the labour of a thousand was obvious to her. 'I'm rather at a loose end,' said Cairns musing, 'you see I've had enough knocking about. But it's rather dull here, you know. I'm not a marrying man either.' Victoria was disturbed. She looked at Cairns and met his eyes. There was forming in them a question. As she looked at him the expression faded and he signed to the waiter to bring the coffee. As they sipped it they spoke little but inspected one another narrowly. Victoria told herself that if Cairns offered her marriage she would accept him. She was not sure that ideal happiness would be hers if she did; his limitations were more apparent to her than they had been when she first knew him. Yet the alternative was the P.R.R. and all that must follow. Cairns was turning over in his mind the question Victoria had surprised. Though he was by no means cautious or shy, being a bold and good liver, he felt that Victoria's present position made it difficult to be sentimental. So they talked of indifferent things. But when they left the restaurant and drove towards Finsbury Victoria came closer to him; and, unconsciously almost, Cairns took her hand, which she did not withdraw. He leant towards her. His hand grew more insistent on her arm. She was passive, though her heart beat and fear was upon her. 'Victoria,' said Cairns, his voice strained and metallic. She turned her face towards him. There was in it complete acquiescence. He passed one arm round her waist and drew her towards him. She could feel his chest crush her as he bent her back. His lips fastened on her neck greedily. 'Victoria,' said Cairns again, 'I want you. Come away from all this labour and pain; let me make you happy.' She looked at him, a question in her eyes. 'As free man and woman,' he stammered. Then more firmly: 'I'll make you happy. You'll want nothing. Perhaps you'll even learn to like me.' Victoria said nothing for a minute. The proposal did not offend her; she was too broken, too stupefied for her inherent prejudices to assert themselves. Morals, belief, reputation, what figments all these things. What was this freedom of hers that she should set so high a price on it? And here was comfort, wealth, peace--oh, peace. Yet she hesitated to plunge into the cold stream; she stood shivering on the edge. 'Let me think,' she said. Cairns pressed her closer to him. A little of the flame that warmed his body passed into hers. 'Don't hurry me. Please. I don't know what to say. . . .' He bent over with hungry lips. 'Yes, you may kiss me.' Submissive, if frightened and repelled, yet with a heart where hope fluttered, she surrendered him her lips. CHAPTER XXVI