"You wished to see me?" She stood still in the shadows of the room; it was strange, he thought, that she made no attempt to take his hand. For his part, he found himself looking at her with a new feeling--a feeling of wonder. She stood here so quiet and calm--apparently so perfectly self-possessed. His notion of a possible interview had been that it would be a thing of tears and lamentations; that she would be bowed at his feet. Not, to do him justice, that he desired that; it merely fitted in with his idea of what was right under the circumstances. And here she was, asking calmly if he wished to see her. "Yes," he replied, a little awkwardly. "You had my message--you know what has happened?" She nodded slowly; she kept her eyes fixed upon his; she seemed to be waiting breathlessly for something he was to say. "Charlie's dead," she said; "and I suppose he sent a message to me." Jimmy set a chair for her, but she did not seem to notice it. She watched him as he moved, and her eyes were on his face when he turned again to her. Her impatience was shown by the fact that she said again, in the same quick whisper: "He sent a message for me?" "Yes." Jimmy felt that the interview was not arranging itself in the proper way at all. "He told me--told me everything about--about you; he sent for me on purpose." She nodded slowly again; her face was very white. "So that you know--you know what I am?" she breathed. "I have not said anything about that," said Jimmy, more disconcerted than ever. "If Charlie had lived he would have married you; but there was no time. He died so quickly. But his message to you--the last message of all--was that it would be all right." She smiled a little wanly; she shook her head. "Poor Charlie!--that was always what he said. And now he has gone, and it can't be all right at all--can it?" "I think it can," said Jimmy, turning away from her, and walking across to the fireplace. "That was why Charlie sent for me; and that is why I--I wanted to see you. Because, you see, Moira--I'm going to make it all right." "You?" She started violently, and made a movement towards him; checked herself, with a hand upon her lips. "What have you to do with it?" "Everything. I promised Charlie before he died that I would do what he was to have done, had he lived. I promised him that I would marry you." There was a deathlike silence in the room for a moment or two; Jimmy seemed literally to feel her eyes looking at him, even though his back was turned towards her. Almost for a moment he expected an outburst--though whether of gratitude or of shame he could not tell. But when she spoke it was in a clear, steady, level voice--much as she might have spoken had she been discussing the fate of someone else. "But why are you doing this?" she asked.