To Vivien, after all the person most intimately concerned, Harry had seemed no laggard; she would have liked him none the worse if he had shown more of that quality. Nothing that he did could be wrong, but some things could be--and were--alarming. Her fastidiousness was not hurt, but her timidity was aroused. She feared crises, important moments, the crossing of Rubicons, even when the prospect looked fair and delightful on the other side of the stream. To-day, in the west wood, the crossing had to be made. It by no means follows that the man who falls in love lightly makes love lightly; he is as much possessed by the feeling he has come by so easily as though it were the one passion of a lifetime. In his short walk from Isobel Vintry's side to Vivien's, Harry's feelings had found full time to rise to boiling-point. Isobel was far out of his mind; already it seemed to him inconceivable that he should not, all along, have meant to make his proposal--to declare his love--to-day. How could he have thought to hold it in for an hour longer? "I know I was late, Vivien," he said. "I'm so sorry. But--well, I half believe I was on purpose." He was hardly saying what was untrue; he was coming to half-believe it--or very nearly. "On purpose! O Harry! Didn't you want to give me my lesson to-day?" "Not in bicycling," he answered, his eyes set ardently on her face. She was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, which had been stripped of its bark and shaped into a primitive bench. He sat down by her and took her hand. "Your hand shakes! What's the matter? You're not afraid of me?" "Not of you--no, not of you, Harry." "Of something then? Is it of something I might do--or say?" He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. It was no use trying to get answers out of her; she was past that; but she did not turn away from him, she let her eyes meet his in a silent appeal. "Vivien, I love you more than all my life!" "You--you can't," he could just hear her murmur, her lips scarcely parted. "More than everything in the world besides!" What wonderful words they were. "More than everything in the world besides!" "More than all my life!" Could there be such words? Could she have heard--and Harry uttered them? Her hands trembled violently in his; she was sore afraid amidst bewildering joy. Anything she had foreshadowed in her dreams seemed now so faint, so poor, against marvellous reality. Surely the echo of the wonderful words would be in her ears for all her life! She had none wherewith to answer them; her hands were his already; for the tears in her eyes she could hardly see his face, but she turned her lips up to his in mute consent. "That makes you mine," said Harry, "and me yours--yours only--for ever." She released her hands from his, and put her arm under his arm. Still she said nothing, but now she smiled beneath her dim eyes, and pressed his arm. "Not frightened now?" he asked softly. "You need never be frightened again."