"Enough for what, Charmian?" I saw her busy fingers falter and tremble, but her voice was steady when she answered: "Enough to make any—wise man think twice before asking this Humble Person to—to marry him." "I might think twenty times, and it would be all one!" "You—mean—?" "That if Charmian Brown will stoop to marry a village blacksmith, Peter Vibart will find happiness again; a happiness that is not of the sunshine—nor the wind in the trees—Lord, what a fool I was!" Her fingers had stopped altogether now, but she neither spoke nor raised her head. "Charmian," said I, leaning nearer across the table, "speak." "Oh, Peter!" said she, with a sudden break in her voice, and stooped her head lower. Yet in a little she looked up at me, and her eyes were very sweet and shining. Now, as our glances met thus, up from throat to brow there crept that hot, slow wave of color, and in her face and in her eyes I seemed to read joy, and fear, and shame, and radiant joy again. But now she bent her head once more, and strove to pleat another fold, and could not; while I grew suddenly afraid of her and of myself, and longed to hurl aside the table that divided us; and thrust my hands deep into my pockets, and, finding there my tobacco-pipe, brought it out and fell to turning it aimlessly over and over. I would have spoken, only I knew that my voice would tremble, and so I sat mum-chance, staring at my pipe with unseeing eyes, and with my brain in a ferment. And presently came her voice, cool and sweet and sane: "Your tobacco, Peter," and she held the box towards me across the table. "Ah, thank you!" said I, and began to fill my pipe, while she watched me with her chin propped in her hands. "Peter!" "Yes, Charmian?" "I wonder why so grave a person as Mr. Peter Vibart should seek to marry so impossible a creature as—the Humble Person?" "I think," I answered, "I think, if there is any special reason, it is because of—your mouth." "My mouth?" "Or your eyes—or the way you have with your lashes." Charmian laughed, and forthwith drooped them at me, and laughed again, and shook her head. "But surely, Peter, surely there are thousands, millions of women with mouths and eyes like—the Humble Person's?" "It is possible," said I, "but none who have the same way with their lashes." "What do you mean?" "I can't tell; I don't know." "Don't you, Peter?" "No—it is just a way." "And so it is that you want to marry this very Humble Person?" "I think I have wanted to from the very first, but did not know it—being a blind fool!" "And—did it need a night walk in a thunderstorm to teach you?" "No—that is, yes—perhaps it did." "And—are you quite, quite sure?"