"Don't you know--Helène--that I love you? I want you to live in England--to be my wife. Don't say that I haven't a chance. I know that I ought not to have spoken yet, but you are going away so soon, and I am so afraid that I might not see you again alone. Don't stop me, please. I am not asking you now for your love. I know that it is too soon--to hope for that--altogether! I only want you to know, and to be allowed to hope." "You must not. It is impossible." The words were very low, and they came from her quivering with intense pain. He released her fingers. She leaned upon a huge boulder near and, resting her face upon her hand, gazed dreamily out to sea. "I am very sorry," she said. "My uncle was right after all. It was not wise for us to meet. I ought to have no friends. It was not wise--it was very, very foolish." Being a man, his first thoughts had been for himself. But at her words he forgot everything except that she too was unhappy. "Do you mean," he said slowly, "that you cannot care for me, or that there are difficulties which seem to you to make it impossible?" She looked up at him, and he scarcely knew her transfigured face, with the tears glistening upon her eyelashes. "Do not tempt me to say what might make both of us more unhappy," she begged. "Be content to know that I cannot marry you." "You have promised somebody else?" "I shall probably marry," she said deliberately, "somebody else." He ground his heel into the soft sands, and his eyes flashed. "You are being coerced!" he cried. She lifted her head proudly. "There is no person breathing," she said quietly, "who would dare to attempt such a thing!" Then he looked out with her towards the sea, and they watched the long, rippling waves break upon the brown sands, the faint and unexpected gleam of wintry sunshine lying upon the bosom of the sea, and the screaming seagulls, whose white wings shone like alabaster against the darker clouds. For him these things were no longer beautiful, nor did he see the sunlight, which with a sudden fitfulness had warmed the air. It was all very cold and grey. It was not possible for him to read the riddle yet--she had not said that she could not care for him. There was that hope! "There is no one," he said slowly, "who could coerce you? You will not marry me, but you will probably marry somebody else. Is it, then, that you care for this other man, and not for me?" She shook her head. "Of the two," she said, with a faint attempt at her old manner, "I prefer you. Yet I shall marry him." Wolfenden became aware of an unexpected sensation. He was getting angry. "I have a right," he said, resting his hand upon her shoulder, and gaining courage from her evident weakness, "to know more. I have given you my love. At least you owe me in return your confidence. Let me have it. You shall see that even if I may not be your lover, I can at least be your faithful friend."