Accordingly, he returned home after the meeting, dined alone before the usual time, and, knowing that Adrienne was usually at home about half-past seven, set off a little after seven. His shortest way to Blake Street was to go past the town-hall, and proceed through the pleasure-grounds on the hillside, through the park at the top, and so across the Townfield into Blake Street. This he did, and having ascended the hill, entered the park by one of its gates, and found that it was almost deserted. There was a nursemaid, and some children playing about the croquet lawn; there was a man reclining upon a bench in a rocky recess--a man who seemed tired, for he was almost crouched together; his face was completely hidden by his arm and hand, which were stretched on the back of the bench. There was also a woman’s figure advancing from the other end of the park, and Sebastian’s heart gave a spring as he recognised Adrienne Blisset. He walked up to her, and met her. ‘You here, Mr. Mallory, at this time? That is unusual, isn’t it?’ ‘I am here because I was on my way to your house, hoping very much to find you in. I am glad I have not missed you altogether.’ ‘I am glad too. I was going to see Mary Heywood, and should most likely have sat with her some time, for my conscience accuses me of having neglected her. But shall we return to my house?’ ‘Not on any account--that is, if you are not tired, and do not object to walking about on this terrace for a short time.’ ‘Not in the least. What a lovely evening it is! And how clear! Look at those purple moors to the north. I have often longed to get to the top of one of those moors. What do you think I should see at the other side?’ ‘Yorkshire--and more moors.’ ‘Those are the moors on the other side of which Charlotte and Emily Brontë lived,’ said Adrienne, her thoughts taking any direction but the one Sebastian wished. ‘Yes, I believe so. Haworth and Keighley, and all about there. You should go there some time. But don’t look at the prospect now. I want to ask you something.’ ‘Yes,’ said Adrienne, turning to him with a half-smile. The smile died away. She found his eyes fixed upon hers with an unmistakable meaning in their earnest gaze. Her own face flushed deeply, as he gently took her hand and said, ‘I have tried in vain to take an opportunity--at last I have had to make one. I must know something, certainly. I cannot wait any longer. Adrienne, I love you dearly--I have loved you ever since I lost sight of you on that unhappy morning after you left Wetzlar. I knew it then, and my love has only grown stronger ever since. Can you return it? Will you--some time--be my wife?’ He felt his happy confidence falling from him on all sides, as he beheld her face, and stood there, cold, as if a warm mantle had dropped from his shoulders. ‘You--I am very sorry,’ she stammered. ‘Oh, Mr. Mallory----’