"Then don't hurry now," he said. He drew a chair beside her and quietly took her free hand. "Take your time. Take a week, two weeks, a month, if you choose." "But it's so new; it's all so new," said Muriel. "I never suspected----Oh, I know girls are always supposed to guess; but really, really, I never, _never_----" There was genuine pain in her voice. "I don't know what is expected of most girls," said Stainton; "but of you I shall never expect anything but the truth." She looked up at him with eyes perplexed. "Yes--yes, that is just what I want to be: honest. And--don't you see?--that is just why--I am so uncertain--that is just why I can't, right away, tell you----" He pressed her hand and rose. He did not like to hurt her. "I ask only that you will think it over," he said. "Will you think it over, Muriel?" She bowed her head. "Yes," said she. "And I may come back in----" "Yes." "In two weeks?" "In two weeks." Her voice was low and shaken. "Oh, you don't mind if I ask you to go now?" she pleaded. "I understand," said Stainton. "I'll be back two weeks from this evening. Good-night." "Good-night, Mr. Stainton," said Muriel. She waited for him to go. She waited until she heard the street door close behind him. Then she hurried in retreat toward her own room. But Mrs. Newberry was lying in ambush on the landing when the girl came upstairs--Mrs. Newberry, broad in white satin, with diamonds at her neck and in her hair. "Well?" asked the aunt. "Oh!" cried Muriel. She started. "Aunt Ethel!" "Well?" "You frightened me," Muriel explained. "I didn't see you until you spoke." "Well?" persisted Mrs. Newberry. "Nothing. That's all," said Muriel. "Nothing--only that----" Ethel became diplomatic: "Mr. Stainton didn't stay very long?" "Not very long, Aunty." Ethel heard something ominous in her niece's tone. "You didn't--you don't mean to say you sent him _away_?" "No, Aunty. Good-night." "It's early. You're going to bed so early?" "Yes, I think I'll go to bed. I'm--I'm tired." "But it's early," repeated Mrs. Newberry, who was accustomed to order her life according to hours and not to reason. "Is it?" said Muriel. "It's scarcely ten. The library clock just struck." "I think it struck some time ago." "Did it?" "I think I shall go to bed, Aunty." Mrs. Newberry sought to bar the way, but she could not succeed in that when she could think of no pretext for detaining the girl, so Muriel brushed past her and went to her own room. Ethel returned to the library--so called because it contained a few hundred unread books, the newspapers, and all the current magazines. She said to herself that she wanted to think it over, "it" being the opportunity that she had so ceremoniously afforded Stainton and Muriel, together with Muriel's sudden desire for privacy.