“The best, the bravest, the noblest in the world,” she answered. “You are an honourable English gentleman; a man whose word is as good as his bond. You are a true man in heart and in soul.” “Faith! child, do not say any more or you’ll crush me to the earth. Why, you poor little girl, I am not a bit like that in reality. Do you think I have no wild blood in me. Don’t I look at times, at times—the truth now, Nancy—don’t I look at times a very Ishmaelite, a man whose hand might be against every other man? Has not my eye a wild gleam in it? Look at me now, Nance, and say truly what you think.” “You never appear anything to me but what I have just said,” she answered, giving him a somewhat timid glance, “but it is true that others have told me——” “Ha! ha!” laughed Rowton, “I thought that whisper would get about. You see, my fair Nancy, I am not exactly what I seem. To you, my darling, I am all that is true, all that is honourable, but to the world at large—I will whisper it to you, Nancy—the world and I, the world and Adrian Rowton, are at daggers drawn. Now, my love, will you marry me, knowing this?” “You mean that you have a secret?” said Nancy. “I have.” “A real grave secret?” “Yes, the gravity of the thing cannot be exaggerated.” “And you won’t tell me?” “No, never. Are you curious? Curiosity, thy name is woman.” “I will crush my curiosity, Adrian, if you think I had better not know.” “Dear little Nance, you must never know. You shall be my wife, but you must respect my secret, and if you see things which you do not understand, you must be a good child and ask no questions; and I on my part, will promise to respect your secret and not to worry you with questions, even when your conduct surprises me—even when the desire to know bubbles to the tip of my tongue. Why, Nancy, the fact of our both having a secret makes the whole arrangement fair and above board.” “It seems so,” said Nancy; “in one sense it seems fair, and yet in another, dreadful. This is not my idea of a happy married life.” “Never mind what your idea is; a happier husband and wife than you and I will never be found. Well, that is settled; we will be married by special licence next week.” “So soon!” said Nancy. “So late, you mean,” he answered, and stooping he pressed his lips to hers. “I hunger for you,” he said. “I cannot live any longer without you. We’ll be married next week by special licence. You have only a few more days to live in this horrid old Grange.” “And you take me to the Bungalow?” she asked. “To the Bungalow!” he repeated—he laughed. “Jove! child,” he said, “do you think that a comfortable home?—have I nothing better than that to offer my little girl?” “I do not know,” she replied. “I shall be quite satisfied with any home with you—you are poor, are you not, Adrian?” “Ah! now I shall surprise you,” he said. “I have a secret, after all, which I can confide to my little girl.” “What is that?” she asked.