He thought her romantic; he chose for his moment a moonlight evening, for his scene the old bridge--the Pont-y-Pair. He led her there after dinner, two nights before they were to go back to London. She guessed his purpose; his air was one of determination. She stood looking down into the water, intensely conscious of his presence, though for some minutes he smoked in silence. Indeed the whole place seemed full of his masterful personality; she grew a little afraid. He knocked out his pipe on the parapet of the bridge; some glowing ashes twinkled down to the water and were quenched. She felt her heart beat quick as he put the pipe in his pocket. "Marie!" "Yes." "Come, won't you even look at me?" She had no power to disobey; she turned her face slowly towards his, though otherwise she did not move. "Do you like me?" "Of course I like you, Sidney. You know that." "Anything more?" Her hands were clasped in front of her, resting on the parapet. He put out his great right hand and covered them. "I love you, Marie. I want you to be my wife." She turned her face away again; she was trembling, not with fear, but with excitement. She felt his arm about her waist. Then she heard his voice in a low exultant whisper, "You love me, Marie!" It was not a question. She leant back against the strong arm that encircled her. Then his kiss was on her lips. "But I've never even said 'yes,'" she protested, trembling and laughing. "I'm saying it for you," he answered in jovial triumph. "Take me back to the hotel, please, Sidney," she whispered. "Not a walk first?" He was disappointed. "As much as you like to-morrow!" He yielded and took her back. There she fled from him to her own room, but came back in half-an-hour, serene and smiling, to receive praise and embraces from brother and friend. She had thrown herself on her bed and lain there, on her back, very still save for her quick breathing, her eyes very bright--like a captured animal awaiting what treatment it knows not. Only by degrees did she recover calm; with it came the peace of her visions--the sense of the strong right arm encircling and shielding her. The idea that she could ever of her own will, aye, or of her own strength, thrust it away seemed now impossible. If ever woman in the world had a fate foreordained, hers was here! But Sidney had no thought of fate. By his own right hand and his powerful arm he had gained the victory. "If you'd told me three or four months ago that I should bring this off, I'd never have believed you," he told Raymond as they rejoiced together over whisky-and-soda, the first they had allowed themselves since they started on the trip. "Never say die! That's the moral. I thought I was done once, though." He screwed up his mouth over the recollection of that quarrel at the tennis courts. "But I got back again all right. It just shows!"