“Henry, you utter, utter, _utter_ beast!” she said, and incontinently burst into tears. Henry put his arms round her, and Jane wept as she had never wept in her life, her face tightly pressed against the rough tweed of his coat sleeve, her whole figure shaking with tumultuous sobs. Presently, when she was mopping her eyes and feeling quite desperately ashamed, she exclaimed: “I had just touched a slug, and you were worse. I didn’t think anything could be worse than a slug, but you were.” Henry had kissed the back of her neck twice while she was crying. Now he managed to kiss a little bit of damp cheek. “You’re not to,” said Jane, in a muffled whisper. “Why not?” said Henry, with the utmost simplicity. “You don’t mind it, you know you don’t.” He did it again. “Jane, if you had minded, you wouldn’t have clung to me like that. Jane darling, you do like me a little bit, don’t you?” “Oh, I don’t! And I didn’t cling, I didn’t.” “You did. Take it from me, you did.” Jane made a very slight effort to detach herself. It was unsuccessful because Henry was a good deal stronger than she was and he held her firmly. “Henry, I really hate you,” she said. “Any one might cling, if they thought it was a slug or Mr. Ember and then found it wasn’t.” Then, after a pause, “Henry, when a person says they hate you, it’s usual to let go of them.” “My book of etiquette,” said Henry firmly, “says—page 163, para. ii.—‘A profession of hatred is more compromising than a confession of love; a woman who expresses hatred in words has love in her heart.’ And I really did see that in a book yesterday, so it’s bound to be true, isn’t it?—isn’t it, darling?” “Henry, I told you to stop,” said Jane; “I simply _won’t_ be kissed by a man I’m not engaged to.” “Oh, but we are,” said Henry. “I mean you will, won’t you?” Jane came a very little nearer. “We should quarrel,” she said, “quite dreadfully. You know there are some people you feel you’d never quarrel with, not if you lived with them a hundred years; and there are others, well, you know from the very first minute that you’d quarrel with them and keep on doing it.” “Like we’re doing now?” said Henry hopefully. Jane nodded. Of course Henry could not see the nod, but he felt it because it bumped his chin. “All really happily married people quarrel,” he said. “The really hopeless marriages are the polite ones. And you know you’ll like quarrelling with me, Jane. We’ll make up in between whiles, and there won’t be a dull moment. Will you?” “I don’t mind promising to quarrel,” said Jane. “No, Henry, you’re positively not to kiss me any more. I’m here on business, if you’re not. How did you get here? And why were you lurking here, pretending to be a slug?” “Suppose you tell me first,” said Henry. “How did _you_ get here?” “I followed Lady Heritage. I’ve got an immense amount to tell you.” She leaned against Henry’s arm in the darkness, and spoke in a soft, eager voice: