When she had gone he noticed that the sun was setting and that the room was even more hideous than before. He went again to the window wondering how to act. The entire scene was a surprise to him. He had come knowing nothing of the girl’s circumstances, and suddenly he learned that she was in indigence, unable perhaps to pay her board bills and worried by small tradesmen. He had come prepared to be refused and she had almost accepted him. But what an acceptance! In the nature of it his thoughts roamed curiously: he was to be a little more than kin, a little less than kind. She would accept him as a husband for out-of-door purposes, for the world’s sake she would bear his name--at arm’s length. According to the terms of her proposition were she ever really his wife it would be tantamount to a seduction. He was to be with her, and yet, until she so willed it, unable to call her his own. And did he refuse these terms, she was off, no one knew whither. But he had not refused, he told himself, he had indeed not refused, he had merely suggested an amendment which turned an impossibility into an allurement. What pleasanter thing could there be than the winning of one’s own wife? The idea was so novel it delighted him. For the moment he preferred it to any other; beside it his former experience seemed humdrum indeed. But why had she wept? Her reasons, however, he had then no chance to elucidate. Miss Barhyte returned as abruptly as she had departed. “Forgive me,” she said, advancing to where he stood, “it was stupid of me to act as I did. I am sorry--are we still friends?” Her eyes were clear as had she never wept, but there were circles about them, and her face was colorless. “Friends,” he answered, “yes, and more--” He hesitated a moment, and then hastily added, “It is agreed, then, is it not, you will be my wife?” “I will be your wife?” “As Balzac’s heroine was to her husband?” “You have said it.” “But not always. If there come a time when you care for me, then I may ask you to give me your heart as to-day I have asked for your hand?” “When that day comes, believe me,” she said, and her delicious face took on a richer hue, “when that day comes there will be neither asking nor giving, we shall have come into our own.” With this assurance Mr. Incoul was fain to be content, and, after another word or two, he took his leave.