Had marriage with Wyndham entailed immediate removal from the atmosphere of Theo Desmond, hesitancy might have ended in capitulation. But life-long intimacy with him, as the wife of his closest friend, was unthinkable for a moment; and if by the wildest possibility Paul should ever suspect the truth----! She shuddered and glanced in his direction. "Major Wyndham," she said softly. He hastened back to her at once. But one look at her face sufficed. The eagerness faded from his eyes, leaving them cold as a winter sky after sunset. "It was wrong of me to keep you in suspense even for a few minutes," she said, her gaze riveted on the table. "Please forgive me that I am driven to hurt you so, and please believe that I do realise what I am losing----" "The loss is--not yours," he said on a note of restrained quietness: and in the stillness that ensued, the impatient horses could be heard champing their bits. He sank into his chair with a gesture of unfeigned weariness; and she glanced at his face. Its mingled pain and patience pierced her heart. But when at last he spoke, his voice was natural and controlled. "I have only one word more to say. I confess I have not the courage to let you go altogether out of my life. Since nothing else is possible, will you at least accept me as your permanent and--devoted friend?" She turned upon him in frank surprise. "Do you mean that--really? _Can_ you do it? Men always say----" He smiled a trifle bitterly. "Do they? No doubt they are right--for themselves. But I know I have the strength to accept what I ask, or I would not dare ask it. You won't refuse me that much, will you--Honor?" "No, indeed, no," she answered, greatly moved. "I can deny you nothing that I am not forced to deny you--Paul." "Ah, there is no woman in the world to compare with you! Let me say it this once, as I may never tell you so again." He rose in speaking, braced his shoulders, and stood looking down upon her, a strangely glad light in his eyes. "I have _not_ lost you, after all," he said. She rose also, and gave him both her hands. "No. You have gained me--for good. I--care now ever so much more than I did when I came out to you this morning." "You _do_?" "Yes--I do." He drew her towards him. "Promise me this much," he said, "that if you should ever find it possible to--marry me on any conditions--even the hardest--you will tell me so at once, because after this morning I shall never open my lips on the subject again." "I promise. Only--you must not let yourself hope." He sighed. "Very well, I will shut out hope, since you command it. But I shall still have love and faith to live upon. You cannot deprive me of those--Honor. Now shall we go for our ride? Or would you rather go in and rest after all this?" "No. We will have our ride. I can rest later if I need it." "Let me put you up then. Come." And she came without a word. CHAPTER XXII. THE CHEAPER MAN.