There _was_ nothing to say. He had meant to ‘have it out.’ He had torn across France like a madman to ‘have it out.’ Have what out? There was nothing to have out. Athalia had said as much . . . _any moment, now_. . . . In the face of that, how could he—— He began to wonder whether such a giant fool’s errand had ever been run before. Athalia was speaking. “What is it, Punch? You didn’t start a day early to ask me that.” “I didn’t start a day early.” A puzzled look came into the great brown eyes. “But you can’t have——” “Yes, I did,” said Fairfax. “I got to Dieppe this morning and came down by road. I started from there at seven and got here at half-past eight.” Athalia started. Then she caught at his arm. “Punch, Punch! You might have broken your neck! Why—why did you come so terribly fast?” The man hesitated. “Why?” breathed Athalia. Punch swung round and caught her hands in his. “Will you forgive me if I tell you?” “I’ve asked you to.” “Why, then, it’s because I had to—had to get here and see you before he came. I couldn’t stand by, Athalia, and watch you step out of my life without a word. I’m mad—crazy about you. I can’t think of anything else. When I’m not with you everything’s dull and flat, and the only way I get through is by thinking of what you look like and how soon I’ll see you again. Your hair, your eyes, your temples, your precious, darling mouth—I know every tiny look of them. If I could paint, I’ld paint your portrait from memory without a slip. I know your hands and the shape of your tiny nails, and I’ld know your step from a million if you were going by. Oh, my lady, I do love you so. I thought I did when I asked you to be my wife, but I didn’t at all. I hadn’t begun to love you. But now . . . Oh, Athalia, my sweet, I’ve tried to play the game. You don’t know what it’s meant to sit by your side in the car and see your face at my shoulder and hold my tongue. I’ve had to hold on to myself to keep my head. When I said that but for your money I wouldn’t have opened my mouth, I must have been mad. If you hadn’t a bean—why, I’ld go across Europe on my hands and knees and beg and pray you to let me ‘bring you down.’ Yes, I’ve got to that, my lady. Bringing you down or no—I’ld beg and pray. You see, I’ve turned selfish. You’ve come to mean too much, and that’s the truth.” He stopped short there. Then he let fall her hands and turned to the sea. “And there you are, sweetheart—I can call you that this once. You asked me why I hurried, and now you know. If he’d spoken before I got here, I couldn’t have told you this. And I felt I wanted you to know. That’s all. I just wanted you to know . . . how very much . . . I cared.” For a moment the girl said nothing. Then— “I’m glad you did,” she said gently, “awfully glad. And now I’ll tell you a secret. The Athalia Stakes have been won.” “_Won!_” “Won. Listen. The result was a dead heat.” Fairfax started. “But you said he hadn’t spoken.”