The afternoon tea had been cleared away, and the balcony was deserted. In another week Marion would go into the country, and he would return to his consulate. He might never have such another chance. Opportunities for a proposal are so rare in London that it does not do to miss them. A ball affords almost the only opening, and when one remembers the offers to which one has been a third party, on the other side of a thin paper screen--well, it makes a man cautious. Robert Allingford had planned and worked up this tea with patience and success. Jack was to be best man, in consideration of his devotion to mamma--provided, of course, that the services of a best man should be required. On this point Allingford was doubtful. He was sure that Lady Steele understood; he knew that Sir Peter had smiled on him indulgently for the past fortnight; his friends chaffed him about it openly at dinners and at the club; but Marion--he was very far from certain if she comprehended the state of affairs in the slightest degree. He had given her river-parties, box-parties, dinners, flowers, candy--in short, paid her every possible attention; but then she expected Americans to do so; it was "just their way," and "didn't mean anything." He greatly feared that his proposal would be a shock to her, and English girls, he had been told, did not like shocks. He wondered if it would have been better to ask Lady Steele for her daughter's hand, but this he felt was beyond him. Proposing was bad enough anyway, but to attempt a declaration in cold blood--he simply couldn't. Moreover he felt that it must be now or never. Jack had been giving him the field for five minutes already, and he had not even made a beginning. He would go in and get it over. "You are leaving town next week," he said. "I shall miss you." "You have been very good to me," she replied simply. "Good to myself, you mean. It is the greatest pleasure I have in life to give you pleasure, Marion." "Mr. Allingford!" she said, half rising. He had used her Christian name for the first time. "Forgive me if I call you Marion," he went on, noting with relief that her ladyship was talking charity bazaar to Jack, and so assuring him from interruption. "I mean, give me the right to do so. You see I'm awfully in love with you; I can't help loving the sweetest girl I know. You must have seen how I cared." "Lately, yes--I have suspected it," she answered in a low voice. "Do you mind? I can't help it if you do. I'll love you anyway, but I want you to be my wife, to care for me just a little; I don't ask more." "I think you must speak to mamma." "But I don't wish--I mean, can't you give me something to go on--some assurance?" She blushed and looked down, repeating the phrase, "I think you must speak to mamma." "Is that equivalent----" he began; then he saw that it was, and added, "My darling!"