But, for years to come, how was he to marry? Would any girl care to enter that incongruous household? Would he wish to bring her? He was a man who would want his wife to himself, who must have all or none. No one must interfere with his monopoly. And then, with a pang of proud sensitiveness, he told himself that the thing was impossible. Nevertheless, the Porch House Thursdays were his high days and festivals. As he walked up the hill, in the darkness, some new, strange feeling was throbbing at his heart; a sudden yearning to know his fate. It was no use to delude himself with sophistries, or to cheat himself any longer. The first moment he had looked into the depth of those wonderful eyes he knew that he loved Waveney, as such men only love once in their lives; and he knew now, too well, that he must win her for his wife, or for ever live solitary. His mind was in a chaotic state this evening. A subtle form of temptation was assailing him. Why should it be hopeless? True, he could not marry for years; but what if he were to tell her that he loved her, and ask her to wait for him, as other women had waited? He dallied with this thought a moment. "Give me a little hope," he would say to her; "it will strengthen my hands, and I shall fight the battle of life more bravely. Let me feel that I am no longer lonely." But even as the words crossed his lips, he chid himself for his selfishness. Why should he bind down that bright young life, and condemn her to years of wearisome waiting? Why should his burdens be laid on her young shoulders? How could he know what the years would bring? His health might fail. And then, in a mood of dogged hopelessness, he let himself into the little gate that led to the tennis-ground and the Porch House. Little did he guess, as he passed the lighted window of the library, that the objects of his thoughts lay there sleeping for sorrow. But his first glance, as he entered the Recreation Hall, showed him that the chair by Nora Greenwell was empty, and his face was graver and more impassive than ever as he took up his book. But more than once that evening, as he heard the latch lifted in the adjoining room, he lifted his head, and his wistful look was fixed on the opening door. But no little figure in sapphire blue came lightly into the room. As soon as his duties were over Thorold crossed the room to Althea. "Where is Miss Ward?" he asked, quietly. And Althea, who knew he had personal interest in all his pupils, took the question as a matter of course. "I thought you would have heard," she said, a little sadly. "The poor child is in great trouble." And then she gave him a brief account of the last two days. Thorold's face paled a little. He was extremely shocked. "Her twin sister--that beautiful girl I saw in Old Ranelagh gardens?"