"Marbridge, of course," he admitted, sulking in the face of her manifest amusement. "Jealous, Jackie?" "Oh--if you insist." She laughed. "The most encouraging symptom you've yet betrayed!... I didn't ask him. Tankerville did. He likes him. The man's amusing, after all." "But you like him?" "He amuses me." "He's not precisely a tame cat...." "Dear boy!" she laughed again, "I didn't fetch you out here to worry about me. I'm fire-proof. Venetia's quite another pair of shoes. Fret about her as much as you like." "When does he go--Marbridge, I mean?" "Monday, I think. At least, I believe Tankerville asked him for a week only." "And that's why you asked me, this particular week?" "I thought you'd be a good counter-irritant; and hoped you'd come to your senses and secure Venetia against all Marbridges for all time to come. You gave me to understand you would." "Pardon," he corrected a trifle stiffly: "I admitted to you in strict confidence that I was in love with Venetia. I never promised to ask her to marry me." "Well, that's what I understood you to mean. And anyway, you'd better. Neither Tankerville nor I can control the girl; she's her own mistress and headstrong enough to be a good match for any Matthias that ever lived. If Marbridge ever convinces her that she likes him...." She concluded with an eloquent ellipsis. "Probably," mused Matthias after prolonged deliberation, "I'd have lost my head before this if it hadn't been so full of that play." Helena smiled indulgently. "It's not too late ... I hope." Troubled, he rose, walked to the balustrade, jerked his cigarette into space, and returned. "As between one fortune-hunter and another," he said gloomily, "I'm conceited enough to think myself the safer bet." His aunt smiled more openly: "See what Venetia thinks." "I will!" said Matthias with a fine air of inalterable determination. VIII Since it was her whim and the winds indulged, Helena had ordered that the rite of the late dinner be celebrated by candlelight alone. Ten shaded candles graced the places. In the centre of the table an ancient candelabrum of gold added the mellow illumination of its seven alabaster arms, whose small flames yearned upward ardently, with scarce a perceptible flicker, though every window was wide to the whispering night. One of these that faced Matthias framed a shimmering sky of stars and the still black shield of the Sound, on which the fixed and undeviating glare of a remote light-house was reflected darkly, a long unwavering way of light; he thought of a tall wax candle burning amid the sanctified shadows of some vast and dark and still cathedral....