"You said that before. On what does it depend?" Suddenly a glimpse he caught of the smile which lighted up her face started him off at a tangent--without waiting for her answer. "It seems ages since I saw you last; it's awfully nice to see you again--especially as you're looking prettier than ever." "Do you like this frock that I've got on? You ought to, I had it made specially for you--you are so critical about my clothes." "Oughtn't a man to be critical about the girl he--he cares for?" "Do you care for me?" "You know I do." "How much?" "More than I--dare tell you." "Rodney." "Stella." "I hope one day, before very long, you'll find courage enough." The challenge was a direct one. In such matters he was such a creature of impulse that it set his pulses galloping. They had reached a spot where they had for sole society some queer-looking birds who peered at them through the wires which confined them to their runs. "Stella, you mustn't tempt me. If you only knew what I'd give to be able to take you in my arms." "Rodney, it isn't fair of you to talk like that. You say that sort of thing, and make me feel as if the world were whirling round and round, and then you go no farther." "You know why I go no farther." "I don't! I don't!" As she turned and looked at him he saw how her cheeks were flushed; that tears were in her pretty eyes; how her lips were twisted as by physical pain. He really was so fond of her that the sight of her suffering moved him almost beyond endurance. Careless of spectators who might come at any moment to look at the birds, he took both her hands in his. "Stella!" He paused; he was conscious how pregnant with meaning the pause was to her, how she waited for his words. He let them come. "Stella, will you be my wife?" "You know I will! How long have you known it, sir? How long have you been aware that you had only to ask to have? I go all over shame when I think of it. I don't--I really don't--think you've used me quite fairly, sir. Because, you know, you oughtn't to keep on telling a girl that you care for her, and--then say nothing more. I've even sometimes wondered if you were playing with me--I have! Were you?" "Never. How could you think it?" "I had to think something, hadn't I? And--what could I think? Then you do really and truly care for me?" "With the whole force of my being." She drew a long breath, as if it were a sigh of pleasure. "And you really and truly want me to be your wife?" "As Tom said of Mary--if I get you I get all that I want in the world." "Then, why didn't you try to get me before?" "Stella, every man has his own standard. You have money; perhaps one day you'll have more; I have no money; perhaps I never may have. Under those circumstances, though I worshipped the ground you stood on, I had, and have, no right to ask you to be my wife. I have held out against the temptation to do so over and over again, but--I could hold out no longer. You must forgive me."