She heard him, and straggled to compose herself “No,” she answered, “you comfort me. Don’t mind my crying--I’m the better for it.” She looked round at him gratefully. “I won’t distress you, Mr. Brinkworth. I ought to thank you--and I do. Come back or I shall think you are angry with me.” Arnold went back to her. She gave him her hand once more. “One doesn’t understand people all at once,” she said, simply. “I thought you were like other men--I didn’t know till to-day how kind you could be. Did you walk here?” she added, suddenly, with an effort to change the subject. “Are you tired? I have not been kindly received at this place--but I’m sure I may offer you whatever the inn affords.” It was impossible not to feel for her--it was impossible not to be interested in her. Arnold’s honest longing to help her expressed itself a little too openly when he spoke next. “All I want, Miss Silvester, is to be of some service to you, if I can,” he said. “Is there any thing I can do to make your position here more comfortable? You will stay at this place, won’t you? Geoffrey wishes it.” She shuddered, and looked away. “Yes! yes!” she answered, hurriedly. “You will hear from Geoffrey,” Arnold went on, “to-morrow or next day. I know he means to write.” “For Heaven’s sake, don’t speak of him any more!” she cried out. “How do you think I can look you in the face--” Her cheeks flushed deep, and her eyes rested on him with a momentary firmness. “Mind this! I am his wife, if promises can make me his wife! He has pledged his word to me by all that is sacred!” She checked herself impatiently. “What am I saying? What interest can _you_ have in this miserable state of things? Don’t let us talk of it! I have something else to say to you. Let us go back to my troubles here. Did you see the landlady when you came in?” “No. I only saw the waiter.” “The landlady has made some absurd difficulty about letting me have these rooms because I came here alone.” “She won’t make any difficulty now,” said Arnold. “I have settled that.” “_You!_” Arnold smiled. After what had passed, it was an indescribable relief to him to see the humorous side of his own position at the inn. “Certainly,” he answered. “When I asked for the lady who had arrived here alone this afternoon--” “Yes.” “I was told, in your interests, to ask for her as my wife.” Anne looked at him--in alarm as well as in surprise. “You asked for me as your wife?” she repeated. “Yes. I haven’t done wrong--have I? As I understood it, there was no alternative. Geoffrey told me you had settled with him to present yourself here as a married lady, whose husband was coming to join her.” “I thought of _him_ when I said that. I never thought of _you_.” “Natural enough. Still, it comes to the same thing (doesn’t it?) with the people of this house.” “I don’t understand you.”