This was a long narrow apartment leading off the great room, and was darker, dustier, gloomier, grimmer. As the building stood almost against another of equal height, its side windows looked upon blank walls; but some measure of grey light was coaxed down from the narrow strip above by means of reflectors. The walls were lined with old books bound in calf black with age, and in the centre was a long narrow table which looked as if it should have a coffin on it. This room had depressed many cheerful lovers in its time; it was enough to drive tormented souls to suicide. Trennahan and Helena sat down in an angle where they were least likely to be seen. "What are you going to do?" asked Helena. "I am going away for a year as soon as I can invent a decent excuse." "Then shall you come back and marry 'Lena?" "Yes." "Suppose you still love me?" "It will make no difference. And Time works wonders. You will have quite forgotten me." "I sincerely hope I shall." Her voice shook. There was agitation in every curve of her figure. But had anyone entered, their faces could not have been distinguished two feet away. The sky was grey. There was no light to reflect. "It is the first time I haven't got what I wanted," she said ingenuously. "It will make your next triumph the keener. I shall be glad to serve as a shadow for the high lights." "I have suffered horribly in the last week." "So have I, if that consoles you. But I have had a good deal of suffering in my life, one way and another, and I shall weather it. I wish I could take your share." "Shouldn't you like to marry me?" "Of course I should. Why do you ask such foolish questions?" "I want to talk it all out. I love 'Lena, but I don't love her better than I do myself, and I don't see why I should suffer instead of she. Don't you think that if we told her she would release you?" "Undoubtedly; but I shall not ask her. Nor must you think of such a thing. Why two young and exceptionally fortunate girls should want what is left of me God only knows; but if they do the prior rights must win the day. If I don't marry 'Lena, I shall marry no woman,--not even you." She gave him a swift glance. His face was not as stern as his words. "You know that you would," she said with decision. "You are too honourable to break the engagement, but you would marry me if it were broken for you." He drew his brows together and bent his face to hers. "Listen to me," he said. "I mean what I say. I love you,--how much you have not the vaguest idea; but I will not have her happiness ruined. If you ask her to break the engagement, I shall never see you again. Will you remember that?"