"Whew!" he said, "I must go by the eight-o'clock mail this evening." He turned back to tell his man to pack a bag, take tickets, and meet him at Euston, then drove to the theatre to find that the rehearsal was over and every one gone. He went on as fast as possible to Great College Street. Margaret tried not to show her consternation, but her face betrayed her. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Sir George told me you belonged to Lena--but that isn't true, is it?" "Of course not," he answered, staring at her, and wondering that she could repeat anything so absurd; "but they have been very kind to me, and I ought to go. Besides," he added, for Tom was always loyal, "I like them both." He stopped a minute, and then he said, suddenly, "I wish you would give up the theatre." "I can't," but her tone was not so positive as it had been. "You know," he began, slowly, "I have been thinking a great deal about things lately, and wondering--" "Yes." "I'm not sure that I want to tell you--I'm rather afraid; suppose we go and drive about a bit, and perhaps you shall know when we come in." "It's such a rum thing," he thought, when she had gone to get her hat, "that she should be living here alone; I feel as if I simply can't go away and leave her. And if I say anything and she doesn't care for me, it will be all up, and I shall find myself where poor old Stringer is. I wonder if he's got over it a bit, and will come and look after her while I am away in Scotland." Sir George had returned from Dieppe the day before, but he had been shy of going near Margaret. Tom had seen him in the street and thought it wise not to recognize him. Margaret came in ready to go out. She wore a white dress and a black hat that drooped a little on one side with the heaviness of its trimming. There was a thin gold chain round her neck; he knew that the locket attached to it contained her mother's hair. He looked at her for a moment, at her blue eyes and proud lips, and her slim, tall figure, and his reticence went to the winds. "I can't bear to think I am going to-night," he said. "And I can't," she answered, almost without being aware of it. Then it seemed as if fate took hold of him and forced him to speak. "Margaret," he said, and his tone brought the color to her face, "this can't go on; it will have to come to an end somehow. You know we like being together--it's glorious, isn't it? But--I have grown fond of you--I can't help it. I wonder if you like me, if you care for me--it would make everything so easy. I love you--more than anything in the world, and you always seem happy enough with me. Do you think you could stand it always. Cut the theatre, you know, and all that at once, and marry me?" "Oh, Tom!" she said, and without any rhyme or reason she burst into tears and sat down on the little sofa, for it seemed as if the floodgates of heaven had opened and poured its happiness into her heart--just as it had seemed to her mother once in the best parlor at Woodside Farm.