Annoyance began to prick him; he showed spirit. “You are tired--and I may have tired you. I won't do that any longer. I think I'll go, if you'll excuse me to your Lady Maria. Sensible lady, that. She goes to sleep....” He took a turn over the room, then came back and stood over her. “I have not had my answer yet. I'll come for it in a few days' time. May I hope you'll have it for me--say, to-day week?” “What is the question I have to answer?” She looked up for it, though she knew what it was to be quite well. “Do you wish it repeated?” He was perfectly cool by now. “I'll put it categorically. I have wronged you, and wish to repair my fault: will you allow it? I love you more than before: will you permit me to prove it? I believe that I can make you happy: may I try?” She had scarcely listened, and when she answered him, did not lift her head. “I can't answer you now, Nevile. Don't ask me.” “I have not asked you. I have simply put my questions fairly. I will come for my answer next Sunday afternoon. Good-bye, Sanchia.” He held out his hand and received hers, which he kissed. Then he turned and left her alone. * * * * * “I should swallow him, if I were you,” was Lady Maria's spoken reflection upon what her young friend was able to tell her. “I should swallow him like a pill. You won't taste him much, and he'll do you worlds of good. The world? I'm not talking of the world. I never do. He'll put you right with yourself. That's much more to the point. He's in love with you, I believe. From what you tell me, that's new. You suppose that he was in love with you before. I do not. He was in love with himself, as you presented him. Most men are. Now you are to occupy that exceedingly comfortable position of a woman out of love with her husband, extravagantly beloved by him. Next to being a man's mistress there's no surer ground for you than that, with respectability added, mind you. No mean addition. Take my advice, my dear, and you won't regret it.” But Sanchia knew at the bottom of her heart that Ingram was not in love with her. He wanted her restored to his collection. IX On the Monday morning, after a night of broken sleep, she received a letter from her mother. “MY DEAR CHILD,” Mrs. Percival wrote, “I met Nevile Ingram, _quite unexpectedly,_ on Saturday evening. Yesterday he called here, after he had seen you in the house where you choose to remain. Our interview was naturally distressing, and I should be glad to feel sure that you could spare me a _third_. I need not remind you of the first.