"No," said the girl, looking frankly into his eager face, "I will not say no. But I must go; I am late. Shoni begins to ask me suspiciously, 'Wherr you going again, Valmai?' I am sure we could not go on much longer meeting here without his interference." "How dreadful to have Shoni's red hair and gaitered legs dogging our footsteps in this fairy dell." "To whom does this sweet valley belong, Cardo? To you?" "To my father. If it ever comes into my possession, it will be so guarded that no stray foot shall desecrate its paths." Cardo was not without hope of being able to overcome Valmai's reluctance to be married before he left the country, and as he and Gwynne Ellis returned one day from a sail he broached the subject to his friend. "To-morrow will be the first of September," he said, as he watched the bulging sail and the fluttering pennon against the blue sky. "Yes," answered Ellis, "I am sorry my holiday is coming to a close." "I don't see why you should leave, although I am obliged to go." "Oh, it will be quite time for me; everything jolly comes to an end some time or other." "True," said Cardo, with a sigh. "Well, you heave a sigh, and you look as grave and solemn as any of Essec Powell's congregation, and, upon my word, I don't see what you've got to look so glum about. Here you are, engaged to the prettiest girl in Wales; just going out for a year's travel and enjoyment before you settle down as a married man in that idyllic thatched cottage up the valley--a year to see the world in--and a devoted father (for he is that, Cardo, in spite of his cold ways) waiting to greet you when you come back. And Valmai Powell following every step you take with her loving and longing thoughts. No, no, Cardo; you have nothing to pull such a long face about. On the contrary, as I have said before, you are a lucky dog." (Cardo grunted.) "Besides, you are not obliged to go. It seems to me rather a quixotic affair altogether, and yet, by Jove! there is something in it that appeals to the poetic side of my nature. You will earn your father's undying gratitude, and in the first gush of his happiness you will gain his consent to your marriage with Valmai. Not a bad--rather a clever little programme." "Oh, it is all very well for you to talk like that, Ellis; but nothing you say can lessen the bitterness of parting from Valmai. It is my own wish to go, and nothing shall prevent me; but I could bear the separation with much more fortitude if only--" And he stopped and looked landwards, where the indistinct grey blur was beginning to take the pattern of fields and cliffs and beach. "If what?" said Ellis, shifting the sail a little. "If only I were married to Valmai." "Phew! what next?" said Ellis, "married! Cardo Wynne, you are bringing things to a climax. My dear fellow, it would be far harder to part from a wife of a week than from a sweetheart of a year. That's my idea of wedded bliss, you see."