"Tired only of sitting still," she answered. "We had a delightful crossing. This way, isn't it?" They left the Grosvenor Hotel, where Louise, with Madame de Melbain, had arrived about an hour ago, and turned towards Battersea. Louise began to talk, nervously, and with a very obvious desire to keep the conversation to indifferent subjects. Wrayson humoured her for some time. They spoke of the journey, suddenly determined upon by Madame de Melbain on receipt of his telegram, of the beauty of St. Étarpe, of the wonderful reappearance of her brother. "I can scarcely realize even now," she said, "that he is really alive. He is so altered. He seems a different person altogether." "He has gone through a good deal," Wrayson remarked. She sighed. "Poor Duncan!" she murmured. "He is very much to be pitied," Wrayson said seriously. "I, at any rate, can feel for him." He turned towards her as he spoke, and his words were charged with meaning. She began quickly to speak of something else, but he interrupted her. "Louise," he said, "is London so far from St. Étarpe?" "What do you mean?" she asked. "I think that you know very well," he answered. "I am sure that you do. At St. Étarpe you were content to accept what, believe me, is quite inevitable. Here--well, you have been doing all you can to avoid me, haven't you?" "Perhaps," she admitted. "St. Étarpe was an interlude. I told you so. You ought to have understood that." They entered the Park, and Wrayson was silent for a few minutes. He led the way towards an empty seat. "Let us sit down," he said, "and talk this out." She hesitated. "I think--" she began, but he interrupted her ruthlessly. "If you prefer it, I will come to the Baroness with you," he declared. She shrugged her shoulders and sat down. "Very well," she said, "but I warn you that I am in a bad temper. I am hot and tired and dusty. We shall probably quarrel." He looked at her critically. She was a little pale, perhaps, but there was nothing else to indicate that she had just arrived from a journey. Her dress of dull black glace silk was cool and spotless, her hat and veil were immaculate. Always she had the air of having just come from the hands of an experienced maid. From the tips of her patent shoes to the fall of her veil, she was orderly and correct. "It takes two," he said, "to quarrel. I shall not quarrel with you. All that I ask from you is a realization of the fact that we are engaged to be married." She withdrew the hand which he had calmly possessed himself of. "We are nothing of the sort," she declared. He looked puzzled. "Perhaps," he remarked, "I forgot to mention the matter last time I saw you, but I quite thought that you would take it for granted. In case I was forgetful, please let me impress the fact upon you now. We are going to be married, and very shortly. In fact, the sooner the better."