He wheeled the armchair to the fire, brought a cushion from the sofa, and waited, holding it in his hand to settle it comfortably for her as she sate down. She gave an odd little sort of choke. "What a coddle you are, Paul! There is nothing really the matter with me. I grow old, that is all; I grow old." It was not a good beginning for an interview in which she would need all her self-control, all her common sense; and had the letter been within reach at that moment it would have received scant justice at her hands, for nothing in the wide world seemed worth consideration save this man with his kind ways and soft voice. He, at any rate, must not suffer. CHAPTER XXV. The room was growing dusk. That pleasant duskiness which obliterates corners and seems to concentrate comfort on the flame-lit circle by the fire. "What a good nurse you are, Paul," she said, with an effort after her usual airiness. "The woman you marry will be lucky." "I'm glad someone thinks so," he remarked briefly, "for there does not seem to be much competition----" "Paul!" she interrupted, with a sudden flutter at her heart. "Do you mean----" "Yes! you were right, as usual, if that is any comfort to you. I have got my dismissal. Does that satisfy you?" She looked at him frankly. "It does. You do not like it, of course, but I cannot be sorry. She was never good enough for you, even when she was rich, and when she was poor----" "Don't let us discuss it, please. The thing is over; and what with those who are too good and those who are not good enough I seem to have made a muddle of it. By the way, I suppose Miss Carmichael is still at Gleneira?" "Certainly--but--but why? I fail to see the connection." It was not true; she saw it clearly enough, and her voice showed it. "Only because I am going down there to-morrow." "To burn your wings again?--that is foolish!" "I have no wings to burn; but I am going to ask her to marry me--to face the villa with me, as you put it." Mrs. Vane started from her pillow with fear, surprise, dislike in every feature. "Are you mad, Paul? The girl does not care for you; I'm certain of that. Then she is half engaged, I believe, to Alphonse--Dr. Kennedy, I mean. Her letter is full of him; you can see it if you like." "I have no doubt of it; he is a far more admirable person than I am. I fully expect she will refuse me, but I mean to ask her all the same." "But why? Since you have told me so much you may as well tell me all. Why?" "Because I choose, and because I like following your good advice." "My advice?" she echoed; "my advice? That is too much." Then recognising the fact that no good would follow on direct opposition, she tacked skilfully. "If you choose, I suppose you will do it, though I cannot for the life of me see why you should put yourself to needless pain, for it must be pain, since you were certainly in love with her at Gleneira----"