"Why does your uncle object to me so much?" he asked. "Object to you!" she repeated. "On the contrary, I think that he rather approves of you. You saved his life, or something very much like it. He should be very grateful! I think that he is!" "Yet," he persisted, "he does not seem to desire my acquaintance--for you, at any rate. You have just admitted, that if he had known that there was any chance of our being fellow passengers you would not have been here." She did not answer him immediately. She was looking fixedly out of the window. Her face seemed to him more than ordinarily grave. When she turned her head, her eyes were thoughtful--a little sad. "You are quite right," she said. "My uncle does not think it well for me to make any acquaintances in this country. We are not here for very long. No doubt he is right. He has at least reason on his side. Only it is a little dull for me, and it is not what I have been used to. Yet there are sacrifices always. I cannot tell you any more. You must please not ask me. You are here, and I am pleased that you are here! There! will not that content you?" "It gives me," he answered earnestly, "more than contentment! It is happiness!" "That is precisely the sort of thing," she said slowly to him, with laughter in her eyes, "which you are not to say! Please understand that!" He accepted the rebuke lightly. He was far too happy in being with her to be troubled by vague limitations. The present was good enough for him, and he did his best to entertain her. He noticed with pleasure that she did not even glance at the pile of papers at her side. They talked without intermission. She was interested, even gay. Yet he could not but notice that every now and then, especially at any reference to the future, her tone grew graver and a shadow passed across her face. Once he said something which suggested the possibility of her living always in England. She had shaken her head at once, gently but firmly. "No, I could never live in this country," she said, "even if my liking for it grew. It would be impossible!" He was puzzled for a moment. "You think that you could never care for it enough," he suggested; "yet you have scarcely had time to judge it fairly. London in the spring is gay enough, and the life at some of our country houses is very different to what it was a few years ago. Society is so much more tolerant and broader." "It is scarcely a question," she said, "of my likes or dislikes. Next to Paris, I prefer London in the spring to any city in Europe, and a week I spent at Radnett was very delightful. But, nevertheless, I could never live here. It is not my destiny!" The old curiosity was strong upon him. Radnett was the home of the Duchess of Radnett and Ilchester, who had the reputation of being the most exclusive hostess in Europe! He was bewildered. "I would give a great deal," he said earnestly, "to know what you believe that destiny to be."