"You are come to tell me," she says, forgetting in her eager excitement how strange it would be for him to seek _her_ sympathy. "But I have heard. Believe me, I am very sorry for your disappointment. It was mean and cruel," indignantly, "in Maud. I would not have done it, _bad_ as you think me." How soft the dark, uplifted eyes; how gentle the pitying voice, how kind the words! Can this be Reine--sharp-tongued, restless, gibing Reine? He stares in great surprise. "I should not care if I were you," she goes on. "I should be too proud to grieve for one so false and unkind. She never loved you; I saw _that_ as soon as I came here, but I did not know she could be so mean. I will never speak to her again." "You take my part," he says, unconsciously pleased. "Yes, because you have been treated unfairly," she says, warmly. "You have been jilted at the very altar--you so handsome, so noble----" she stops, biting her lips, vexed at herself for these outspoken words. But Vane Charteris smiles. "Thank you for those words," he says. "They give me courage to ask what I came for--Reine, will you be my wife?" The white hand falls from his arm, she steps backward a pace, and stares at him mutely, with great, wondering, dark eyes. He repeats the words: "Reine, will _you_ be my wife? Will you go down-stairs and marry me, a jilted man? Will you take the man your beautiful cousin deemed worthless?" A passionate sarcasm quivers in his tone. She looks at him, the deep, rich color flushing into her cheeks. "You do not mean it; you are jesting!" she cries, in a vaguely troubled tone. "I do," he answers. "The guests are here; the feast is provided; the minister waits. Nothing is lacking but the bride, who has fled to the arms of another. Will you throw yourself into the breach, Reine, and make everybody happy?" "If I thought I could," she begins, with a questioning glance, and a delicious thrill at her heart. Something whispers to her that he would wed her to spite Maud, yet her instinct prompts her to take him at his word. In time her tender love must win a return from him. "You must not stop to think," the strange wooer says, impatiently. "Everyone is waiting, and your uncle is most impatient. I have his permission to win you if I can." "Uncle Langton wishes it?" she asks, wondering. "Yes. What is your answer, Reine?" "It is yes," she answers, simply, frankly, and happily. "Thank you," he says; "come, then, Mr. Langton is waiting for us." Then, softened by her gentle mood and the sparkling beauty he cannot help but acknowledge, he says, with a dash of mischief: "You are changed from this morning Reine. So you do not hate me after all?" A spark of the morning's _diablerie_ flashes into the bright eyes again. "Yes, I do," she retorts, "and I am only taking you that I may torment you to death." He checks the impatient sigh, and leads her to Mr. Langton.