“What is the use of saying that?” she said, protesting almost in spite of herself. “Because I want you to see reason,” he rejoined, and she knew that he recognized his advantage, and would press it to the utmost. “Why don’t you want to marry me, Circe? You might do very much worse.” She drew back from him. “Oh, don’t you see that it is out of the question?” she said. “I couldn’t marry you. I don’t love you.” She saw his face harden. “That is plain speaking,” he said. “But I want to know why. What have I done to forfeit your love?” “But I never loved you,” she said. “Are you sure of that?” He spoke insistently. “You kissed me. You let me hold you in my arms.” She flinched at the recollection, but she compelled herself to face him. “That was a mistake,” she said. “You are sure of that?” said Rotherby. “Quite sure,” she answered with simplicity. He shifted his ground. “Are you also sure you know what love is?” She clenched her hands as though in self-defence. “Every woman knows that,” she said. “Then how did you come to make a mistake?” he countered. Again she drew back as from the thrust of a dagger. “Oh, I suppose any woman might do that, but when once she has found it out—she doesn’t do it again.” “How did you come to find out?” said Rotherby. The inquisition was becoming intolerable, but still she faced him with resolution. “I have had a good many hours for thought,” she said. “And I have thought a good deal.” “At Tetherstones?” he said. “Yes.” She saw a gleam of something she did not understand in his look. He seemed to be watching narrowly for something. He spoke abruptly. “What I don’t understand—what I want to understand—is why you came with me last night.” She answered him with an effort. “I had to get away.” “Ah!” he said. “It wasn’t on my account then? You weren’t coming to meet me after all—in spite of my message? Did you get my message?” She bent her head. “Yes. I had your message. Ruth told me. I was coming—I was coming—to meet you.” “Yes?” he said. “Why were you so late?” She hesitated. She could not tell him of that awful interview in the farm-kitchen. She could not bring herself so much as to mention Arthur’s name. “I was coming to meet you,” she said again. “I didn’t mean to be late. But they are a strange family. I didn’t want them to know.” “A very strange family!” said Rotherby. “Why should they know? Your affairs are your own.” “Yes. But they have been very kind to me. They might think they had a right——” “A right to shoot anyone from outside who wanted to speak to you?” he said. “Oh, no—no!” she protested, feeling the hot colour rise overwhelmingly under his look. “That was a piece of madness.” “You knew it was going to happen?” he questioned. “No. I knew you were in some sort of danger. I didn’t know what. I was coming to warn you.” Reluctantly she uttered the brief sentences. It was like the betrayal of her friends. He seized upon the unwilling admission. “You knew? How did you know?”