"We will take another turn," he said instantly; and before she had the presence of mind to resist, they had turned and were walking slowly down the gallery again between the rows of life-size figures of knights and chargers in armour, which loomed gigantic in the feeble light. A wave of music broke in the distance, and the few couples sitting in recesses rose and passed them on their way back to the ball-room, leaving the gallery deserted. A peering moon had laid a faint criss-cross whiteness on the floor. The place took a new significance. Each was at first too acutely conscious of being alone with the other to speak. She wondered if he could feel how her hand trembled on his arm, and he whether it was possible she did not hear the loud hammering of his heart. Either would have died rather than have betrayed their emotion to the other. "You tell me I shall never force your hand," he repeated slowly at last. "No, indeed, I trust I never shall. But when, may I ask, have I shown any intention of doing so?" Di had put herself so palpably and irretrievably in the wrong, that she had no refuge left but silence. She was horror-struck by his repetition of the words which her lips, but surely not she herself, had spoken. "If you ever marry me," said John, "it will be of your own accord. If you don't, we shall both miss happiness--you as well as I, for we are meant for each other. Most people are so constituted that they can marry whom they please, but you and I have no choice. We have a claim upon each other. I recognize yours, with thankfulness. I did not know life held anything so good. You ignore mine, and wilfully turn away from it. I don't wonder. I am not a man whom any woman would choose, much less _you_. It is natural on your part to dislike me--at first. In the mean while you need not distress yourself by telling me so. I am under no delusion on that point." His voice was firm and gentle. If it had been cold, Di's pride would have flamed up in a moment. As it was, its gentleness, under great and undeserved provocation, made her writhe with shame. She spoke impulsively. "But I _am_ distressed, I can't help being so, at having spoken so harshly; no--_worse_ than harshly, so unpardonably." "There is no question of pardon between you and me," said John, turning to look at her with the grave smile that seemed for a moment to bring back her old friend to her; but only for a moment. His eyes contradicted it. "I know you have never forgiven me for telling you that I loved you, but nevertheless you see I have not asked pardon yet, though I had not intended to annoy you by speaking of it again--at present." "No," said Di, eagerly. "But that is just it. It was my own fault this time. I brought it on myself. But--but I can't help knowing--I feel directly I see you that you are still thinking of it. And then I become angry, and say dreadful things like----" "Exactly," said John, nodding.