"How do you know it?" he asked eagerly. "How? I'm sure I don't know--I feel it." "Thank you, thank you," he said, in a low, rapid under tone. "You don't know how I thank you for saying that. At any rate, I have _some_ rudimental morality. I am honest, to the best of my power. I tell no lies to myself, or to any man--or woman. What I say I mean, and what I do I own to--if called upon, that is. You may trust me that far. And I _hope_ you will." "I will," said Rachel, without a moment's hesitation. How often they thought afterwards of their first strange talk, all alone in that shadowy place. It was as if they had known one another in some other world, and had met after long absence; they felt--widely unlike as they were--so little as strangers usually do beginning a conventional acquaintance in the conventional way. However, it did occur to both of them that it would be as well to go back to the drawing-room before they should be missed. "I am glad to have had this opportunity," said Mr. Dalrymple, who rose first. "I shall hope--I shall feel sure--that you will not let yourself be prejudiced unfairly by anything you may hear. For the rest, I hope you will try not to think of this painful story again." And he began to saunter back, and she to saunter beside him. As they entered the drawing-room by the glass door, they heard Mrs. Hardy calling: "Rachel! Rachel! Why, where is Rachel gone to?" The girl glided into the broad, warm light, a little confused and dazzled, and, of course, dyed in blushes, which deepened to the deepest pink of oleanders--nay, to the still richer red of that lapageria which had attracted Mr. Dalrymple's attention just now--as she became conscious of the curious observation of the assembled guests, who, she well knew, would not regard this characteristic demonstration as lightly as those did who knew her. "I am here, Aunt Elizabeth," she replied, in an abject voice, as if she had been caught in something very disgraceful. "Oh!" responded Mrs. Hardy, "I thought you were gone to bed." She looked sharply at the girl's downcast face, and then more sharply at Mr. Dalrymple, who met her eyes with a stately and distant air of not putting himself to the trouble of remembering who she was that she found very offensive and aggravating. "You had better go, my dear," she said peremptorily. "It is late, and you have had a tiring day. I shall be having Mr. Kingston complaining if I let you knock yourself up."