'I was so afraid I might not find you at home,' he said, half apologetically, 'so I thought I might as well walk this way. I knew this was your church. I've brought you the play we were talking about.' 'You're very kind, but I hope you don't think I read French comedies on Sundays?' 'Of course not; only Sunday is my leisure day, and I thought you would not shut your door upon me even on Sunday.' The church was only five minutes' walk from Cavendish Row. When Sir Nugent's door was opened Mr. Penwyn followed Miss Bellingham into the house as a matter of course. She had no help for it but to go quietly upstairs to her fate. She almost knew what was coming. There had been something in his manner last night that told her it was very near. 'Prudence, courage,' she whispered to herself, and then, 'Viola!' The last word was a kind of charm. The rooms looked bright and gay in the noontide sunlight, tempered by Spanish blinds. The flowers, the feminine prettiness scattered about, struck Churchill's eye, they gave such a look of home. 'If I could afford to give her as good a home as this!' he thought. He shut the door carefully behind him, and glanced round the room to make sure they were alone, and went close to Madge as she stood by one of the small tables, fidgeting with the clasp of her prayer-book. 'I think you know why I came to-day,' he said. 'You have told me about three times,—to bring me "_La Quarantaine_."' 'I have come to tell you a secret I have kept more than a year. Have you never guessed it, Madge? Have I been clever enough to hide the truth altogether? I love you, dearest. I, penniless Churchill Penwyn, dare to adore one of the belles of the season. I, who cannot for years to come offer you a house in May Fair. I, who at most can venture to begin married life in a Bloomsbury lodging, supported by the fruits of my pen. It sounds like madness, doesn't it?' 'It is madness,' she answered, looking full at him with her truthful eyes. The answer surprised and humiliated him. He fancied she loved him—would be ready to face poverty for his sake. She was so young, and would hardly have acquired the wisdom of her world yet awhile. 'I beg your pardon,' he said, a curious change coming over his face, a sudden coldness that made those definite features look as if they had been cut out of stone. 'I have been deceiving myself all along, it seems. I did not think I was quite indifferent to you.' The eyelids drooped over the dark eyes for a moment, and were then lifted suddenly, and the eyes met Churchill's. That one look told all. She loved him.