He held out his hand. I put mine into it, the silent tears running down my blushing face. "Do not fear a similar transgression for the future. The fleeting moment over, it is over for good. I would give half my remaining existence, Anne, to be able to marry, to make you my wife; but it cannot be. Believe me, my darling, it _cannot_. No, though you are my darling, and will be for ever." "Oh look! look at this! It is from your hand! What has happened to it?" On my dress of white sprigged muslin there were two red stains, wet. The straps of his hand had become loosened, perhaps in the encounter with Mr. Edwin Barley, and it had burst out bleeding again. I ran upstairs to put on another dress, leaving Mr. Chandos to attend to his hand. Oh, but I was in a glow of happiness! He had said he could not marry. What was marriage to me? Had there been no impediment on his side, there might have been one on mine: a poor friendless young governess was no match for Mr. Chandos of Chandos. He loved me: that was quite enough for present bliss; and, as it seemed to me, for future. Mr. Chandos presided at dinner as usual, himself once more; calm, collected, courteous, and gentlemanly. The servants in waiting could never have suspected he had been making me a declaration of love, and pressing kisses on my lips not many minutes before. "Did you get to see the letter at Warsall?" I asked, when the servants had left again, and silence was growing for me too self-conscious. "Yes, but I don't know the handwriting. It looks like a lady's. They let me bring the note home; I'll show it you presently. Talking of that——" "Without concluding, he rose, went to a side-table, and brought me a box, done up in paper. "There! Don't say I forget you." It contained gloves; a good many pairs. Beautiful French gloves of all colours; some dark and useful, others delicate and rare. But I thought it would not be right to accept them, and the tell-tale pink flushed my cheeks. "Don't scruple; they are not from me. Look at the bit of writing paper." I pulled it out of the box. A few words were on it, pencilled by Lady Chandos, asking me to wear the gloves. "It happened that I was going to buy some for my mother to-day. When I went up to her after Black Knave was brought round, I told her Miss Hereford had no gloves left, and she asked me to get you some. There, Miss Hereford." I supposed I might wear them now. The blushes changed to crimson, and I began putting on a glove to cover my confusion. Mr. Chandos ate his grapes with his usual equanimity. "Six and a half. How did you guess my size?" "By your hand. I had seen it, and felt it." As if jealous of the interview—it seemed so to me at the moment—Hill came in to break it. Lady Chandos wanted him in the west wing. He went up at once. I sat thinking of all that had occurred. Would Mr. Edwin Barley indeed claim me? _Could_ he? Would the law allow him? A shiver took me at the thought.