Her heart had warmed toward him. It had seemed to her that life might be very good indeed with his kindliness and sacrifice about her. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. “It seems so unfair,” she said, “to take all you offer me and give so little in return.” “It is all the world to me. And we are not traders looking at equivalents.” “You know, Mr. Manning, I do not really want to marry.” “No.” “It seems so--so unworthy”--she picked among her phrases “of the noble love you give--” She stopped, through the difficulty she found in expressing herself. “But I am judge of that,” said Manning. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. “As my lady wills.” “Would you let me go on studying for a time?” “If you order patience.” “I think, Mr. Manning... I do not know. It is so difficult. When I think of the love you give me--One ought to give you back love.” “You like me?” “Yes. And I am grateful to you....” Manning tapped with his racket on the turf through some moments of silence. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things--tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. I am your servitor. I am ready to wait for you, to wait your pleasure, to give all my life to winning it. Let me only wear your livery. Give me but leave to try. You want to think for a time, to be free for a time. That is so like you, Diana--Pallas Athene! (Pallas Athene is better.) You are all the slender goddesses. I understand. Let me engage myself. That is all I ask.” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. Her gratitude swelled within her. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. “Then you--you will?” A long pause. “It isn’t fair....” “But will you?” “YES.” For some seconds he had remained quite still. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. Let us walk about. Tum, tum, tirray, tum, tum, tum, te-tum--that thing of Mendelssohn’s! If making one human being absolutely happy is any satisfaction to you--” He held out his hands, and she also stood up. He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. “Forgive me,” he said. “But I am at singing-pitch.” She had a moment of sheer panic at the thing she had done. “Mr. Manning,” she said, “for a time--Will you tell no one? Will you keep this--our secret? I’m doubtful--Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. “But if my manner tells! I cannot help it if that shows. You only mean a secret for a little time?”