Lord Towyn and Neva also looked at the pictures and talked of their childhood days, growing animated over their pleasant reminiscences. The young earl gradually drew his hostess into the great conservatory, a huge glass dome at the bottom of the drawing-room. Here the air was heavy with fragrance. Stalks of white lilies sprang from the side walls, bearing pistils of red and dancing light. Aisles of tropical shrubbery, thick with golden fruitage or snowy blossoms, or both at once, stretched on either side. A feathery palm reared its plumed head in the very centre of the dome. Vines trailed and festooned themselves from floor to roof, dropping perfume from fiery chalices. And through the light foliage of a well-trimmed jungle of flowers and leaves, gleamed a great mellow moon of light, reminding one of a Brazilian forest on a moonlit summer night. “Do you remember when we were here last, Neva?” asked Lord Towyn, as they paused beside the marble basin of a great fountain, and Neva idly dropped rose petals upon the crystal waters. “We were standing upon this very spot, with only that marble Naiad to hear us, and you and I were but children when we entered upon our childish betrothal. How long ago that seems! Do you remember it, Neva?” The rose petals in the girl’s white fingers were not brighter than her cheeks. “Yes, I remember,” she said, dropping her head over the bright waters. “What precocious children we were, Lord Towyn.” The young earl sighed. “The utterance of my title shows the great gulf between the now and the then,” he said. “I was no lord in those days, and you called me Arthur. Now when your name comes instinctively to my lips, I must remember that you are no longer Neva, but Miss Wynde. Why will you not call me by the old name, and let us take up our old friendship where we left off, instead of beginning anew as strangers?” “I am willing,” said Neva frankly, yet shyly. “I--I look upon you as a brother, Arthur, and you may call me Neva.” Strange to say, the permission thus granted did not seem to delight Lord Towyn. His warm blue eyes clouded over with a singular discontent, and a pained expression gathered about his mouth. “I don’t want to be considered as your brother, Neva,” he declared, after a minute’s struggle with himself. “I would prefer to begin again as your merest acquaintance. A fraternal relation toward you would be insupportable. For years I have dreamed and hoped that I might some time win your love. I am no longer a boy, Neva, and I love you with a man’s love. I have carried your picture for years next my heart. I have worshiped you in secret ever since our childhood. I do not know how I have been betrayed into this confession, Neva,” he added. “I did not intend to be so premature. I do not yet ask you to love or to marry me, but I do ask you to allow me to become your suitor.”