But he gave no thought to anything but the figure before him. If Helena Forrest, in the silks and laces of her usual evening attire, had been always one of extraordinary charm, in her present dress and setting she was infinitely more enchanting to the man who stood regarding her with his heart leaping into his throat. The whole picture she presented was one of such engaging domesticity that no bachelor who had suffered the loneliness this one had known so many months could fail to appreciate it. He dropped his parcels and came forward. Mrs. Brainard was not in the room, and the door was closed between the kitchen and the living-room--by accident, or intention? The pulses in his temples were suddenly beating hard. Helena did not turn. She stood by the table, trifling with some little detail of spoon or napkin, and her down-bent profile was presented to Brown's gaze. As he stared at it a sudden vivid wave of colour swept over her cheek, such an evidence of inner feeling as he had seldom observed in her before, who usually had herself so well in hand. He came close and stood looking down at that rich-hued cheek, the soft waves of her dusky hair drooping toward it. "What does this mean?" he said, unsteadily and very low. "This can't be just to make me go mad with longing. For that's what I shall do if I look long at you like this, here in my home--_you_ looking as if--as if--you belonged here!" He saw her hand tremble as it touched the violets in the bowl, arranging them. It was a very beautiful hand, as he well knew, and he saw with fresh wonder that there were no rings upon it, where rare and costly ones were wont to be. There was silence for an instant before her reply. Then she turned and looked up, full into his face. "May I belong here?" she said, very gently. "Do you want to?" "Yes." "You are willing to leave it all--for me?" "Yes." "Ought I to let you?" His questions had been rapid, breathless, his eyes were searching hers deeply. He was very near, but he had not put out a hand to touch her. Yet no woman, seeing him as he stood there, could feel herself the one who wooed, even though she led him on. She looked away for an instant, while her lips broke into a little smile of wonder at his control of himself. No need to tell her how she drew him--she knew it with every fibre of her. Then she let him have her eyes again. "Do you think you can help letting me?" she said, and lifted her face with that adorable, irresistible movement which tells its own story of its own desire. "No!" His voice shook. "Thank God, I don't have to try any longer." It was no passive creature he took then into his eager arms, it was one who raised her own with the rush of self-abandonment which made his joy complete. Long as he had loved her he had not dreamed of her as ever giving herself to any lover so splendidly. If he had dreamed--he realized with a strange feeling at the heart--he could never have withstood....