This time he started violently. But he recovered himself in an instant and came towards me with outstretched hands. I sprang back. "Susan," he said gravely, "don’t jest. For heaven’s sake, not now. This is some quaint fancy. You say you are not Susan, just as you said my infatuation was not love. Forgive me, Susan; but this isn’t a time for subtleties. You love me; and you know I love you more than life. Don’t refine or jest now. This moment of our first meeting is too great, too sacred. Let us be clear and simple, like the moon and the sea." "No!" I cried, as he advanced. "How dare you touch me again? It’s all a mistake. No doubt, this is Lord Ruddington. You are speaking to Miss Langley." His arms dropped to his side, and he fell back as if I had struck him in the face. I steadied myself with one hand against the side of the boat. It was a long time before he spoke. "Miss Langley!" he said at last, in tones as cold and dull as lead. "What can I say?" Then his voice quickened and brightened, and he cried: "No, Susan, you shall elude me no more!" "Stand back, please," I said icily and decisively. "There has been enough of this. I understand you are to see Susan to-morrow, at eleven o’clock." Before I could move, he leapt to my side. "Miss Langley," he said rapidly but firmly. "Miss Langley--if you are truly Miss Langley--if this isn’t some ill-timed joke--hear me for one moment. Heaven knows I did not mean to insult you. But this is a terrible thing. I have laid on you one indignity; but I beg you to endure another. You have answered me from the shadow. I ask you--for heaven’s sake I implore you--to show me your face one moment in the light." He had pressed so near that his shoulder touched mine. I leaned against the boat counting the cost. Had I the strength, to stand out sheer in the pitiless light and biting air? To watch his face--its lightning-flash of passionate eagerness, its following gloom of disenchantment and chagrin? To listen to his stammering apologies? To bestow pardons, revise arrangements? And, last of all, to stumble back over the stones alone--I, who had just known the support of his breast? Had I the strength? What if I should break down, as the light of love died out of his eyes, and weep bitterly? But there was no choice. My heart bled as I schooled myself once more to the haughtiness of artificial pride, and I said: "This is monstrous. But as you please." He made way for me with old-fashioned reverence as I stepped out into the moonshine. With all that was left of my shattered will, I strove to offer for his scrutiny a face hardened by haughtiness, lips curling with disdain, eyes alight with annoyance. But how could I hate him while I loved him? How could my eyes, that were so hungry, stab him? And how could my lips scorn him when they were aching to tell him all?