She would have liked to move away and take her chair at some distance; but that would have looked like flight; foolish indeed. She summoned her common-sense, her maturity, her sorrow, to smile back, to say in a voice she strove to make merely light: "Unusual circumstances excused me." "Unusual circumstances?" "You had been very kind. I was very grateful." Sir Hugh for a moment was silent, looking at her with his intent, interrogatory gaze. "You are always kind to me," he then said. "I am always grateful. So may I always kiss your hand?" Her eyes fell before his. "If you wish to," she answered gravely. "You frighten me a little, do you know," said Sir Hugh. "Please don't frighten me.--Are you really angry?--_I_ don't frighten you?" "You bewilder me a little," Amabel murmured. She looked into the fire, near tears, indeed, in her bewilderment; and Sir Hugh looked at her, looked hard and carefully, at her noble figure, her white hands, the gold and white of her leaning head. He looked, as if measuring the degree of his own good fortune. "You are so lovely," he then said quietly. She blushed like a girl. "You are the most beautiful woman I know," said Sir Hugh. "There is no one like you," He put his hand out to hers, and, helplessly, she yielded it. "Amabel, do you know, I have fallen in love with you." She stood looking at him, stupefied; her eyes ecstatic and appalled. "Do I displease you?" asked Sir Hugh. She did not answer. "Do I please you?" Still she gazed at him, speechless. "Do you care at all for me?" he asked, and, though grave, he smiled a little at her in asking the question. How could he not know that, for years, she had cared for him more than for anything, anyone? And when he asked her this last question, the oppression was too great. She drew her hand from his, and laid her arms upon the mantel-shelf and hid her face upon them. It was a helpless confession. It was a helpless appeal. But the appeal was not understood, or was disregarded. In a moment her husband's arms were about her. This was new. This was not like their courtship.--Yet, it reminded her,--of what did it remind her as he murmured words of victory, clasped her and kissed her? It reminded her of Paul Quentin. In the midst of the amazing joy she knew that the horror was as great. "Ah don't!--how can you!--how can you!" she said. She drew away from him but he would not let her go. "How can I? How can I do anything else?" he laughed, in easy yet excited triumph. "You do love me--you darling nun!" She had freed her hands and covered her face: "I beg of you," she prayed.