Lenise was at her best. She confessed she was really in love this time; she meant to find out how matters stood with him. Despite all she had done, he felt her charm still. She was not a good woman, far from it, but there was something so subtle and attractive about her he found it hard to resist the spell. The thought of Sir Robert's words, "I wish the Admiral could have seen this," gave him courage. It had to be done--why not do it now? There was no escape for her; it was not a corridor train; they were boxed up for three hours or more. She looked at him with softly gleaming eyes; her whole being thrilled toward him; she had never been so fascinating. "You are quiet. What are you thinking about?" she said. "Reckoning up your winnings on Tearaway, I suppose." "My thoughts were far away from there," he said. "Where were they wandering?" "I was thinking about you," he said. "How nice of you," she said quietly. "You prefer me to Fletcher Denyer?" "How can you ask such an absurd question?" "I was wondering whether I loved you; I was thinking whether you would be my wife, if I had the courage to ask you." "Try," she said, her eyes on him. "Do you really love me?" he asked. "You know I do; you must have known it from the first time we met." "There should be no secrets between us," he said. "I have something to tell you." She turned pale, a faint shiver passed through her; he noticed it. Would she confess what she had done? "I too have a confession to make, if you love me, and wish me to be your wife." "Otherwise?" "I shall keep my counsel; it would not interest you." "Let me tell you something first," he said. "As you please, confidence for confidence," she said with a faint smile. "I have not always lived a decent life," he said. "I once committed a crime, I paid the penalty, I was sent to prison, to Dartmoor." She started again, a look of fear was in her eyes. "When I told you I was mining on Dartmoor it was not true; I worked on Dartmoor, but it was as a prisoner. I was in the same gang as Mr. Woodridge's brother." "You were," she said in a hollow voice, wondering why he told her this. "Yes, poor fellow. I never saw a man so broken down in my life; his face haunted me. I said something about it before, you may remember." "Yes, I recollect," she said. "We had very little chance of speaking but I heard his story in fragments, how he hated the woman who had brought him down so low. He swore to me he did not kill the woman's husband, but he would not tell me who did, although I asked him many times. From what I heard I came to the conclusion she fired the shot." His eyes were on her; she could not face their searching glance.