"They are good--better than any I wrote before"--he paused to watch her face, and went on in a lower voice: "I knew you; but I shall do better the more I know you and the better." Janet had no light answer ready now. Her heart was beating, and she had much ado not to bid him end her sweet, unbearable excitement. They had reached the end of the terrace and passed into the wood that skirted it to the west. Suddenly she made a movement as if to turn and go back. "No, no," he whispered in her ear; and, as she wavered, he caught her by the arm, and, without words of asking or of doubt, drew her to him and kissed her. "My beauty, my queen, my love!" he whispered. "You love me, you love me!" She drew back her head, straightening the white column of her neck, while her hands held his shoulders. "Ah, I would die for you!" she said. Mrs. Delane was a woman of penetration. Though Janet told her nothing of what had occurred,--for she and Dale agreed to let the matter remain a secret till the impending festivities were over,--yet Mrs. Delane saw something in her daughter's air which made her, that same evening, express to the Squire her doleful conviction that the worst had happened. "I shall say nothing to Janet," she said, "till she speaks to me. I can trust her absolutely. But I am afraid of it, George. Poor Gerard Ripley!" "My dear, I'm not going to break my heart about Gerard Ripley. I think more of Jan." "Well, of course, so do I. And I don't at all like it. He's not--well, not our _sort_, as the young people say." "Mary, you're talking slang. What's the matter with him? The match will make Jan famous." "Well, well, I don't like it, but you must have your way." "It's not my way. It's Jan's way. Is she fond of him?" "Terribly, I'm afraid, poor child!" The Squire became a little irritated at this persistently sorrowful point of view. "Really, my dear, why shouldn't she be fond of him? It's not a bad thing when people are going to marry." "I wish I'd seen it in time to stop it." "On the whole, Mary, I'm rather glad you didn't. I like the young fellow." In this state of things--with the lady eagerly consenting, and a father all but ready to urge her on--well might Captain Ripley ride recklessly home from Dirkham Grange, cursing the ways of women and the folly of men, and promising himself to go to India and there be killed, to the end that his tragic fate might bring a pang to Janet's heart in future days. Well might he discover a sudden recall, and return to his regiment, escaping the Denborough celebrations, and risking offense in exalted quarters. So he went; and nobody at Denborough thought any more about him--not even Janet, for joy swallows up pity, and the best of humanity are allowed, without reproach, to be selfish once or twice in life.