Falloden said nothing. But she knew that he felt with her. Their scheme seemed to be lying in ruins; they were almost ashamed of it. Then from the further room there came to their ears a prelude of Chopin, played surely by more than mortal fingers,—like the rustling of summer trees, under a summer wind. And suddenly they heard Otto’s laugh—a sound of delight. Connie sprang up—her face transformed. ‘Did you hear that? We have—we have—given him pleasure!’ ‘Yes—for an hour,’ said Falloden, hoarsely. Then he added—‘The doctors say he ought to go south.’ ‘Of course he ought!’ Connie was pacing up and down, her hands behind her, her eyes on the ground. ‘Can’t Mr. Sorell take him?’ ‘He could take him out, but he couldn’t stay. The college can’t spare him. He feels his first duty is to the college.’ ‘And you?’ She raised her eyes timidly. ‘What good should I be alone!’ he said, with difficulty. ‘I’m a pretty sort of a nurse!’ There was a pause. Connie trembled and flushed. Then she moved forward, both her little hands outstretched. ‘Take me with you!’ she murmured under her breath. But her eyes said more—far more. The next moment she was in Falloden’s arms, strained against his breast—everything else lost and forgotten, as their lips met, in the just selfishness of passion. Then he released her, stepping back from her, his strong face quivering. ‘I was a mean wretch to let you do that!’ he said, with energy. She eyed him. ‘Why?’ ‘Because I have no right to let you give yourself to me—throw yourself away on me—just because we have been doing this thing together,—because you are sorry for Otto—and—’ his voice dropped—‘perhaps for me.’ ‘_Oh!_’ It was a cry of protest. Coming nearer, she put her two hands lightly on his shoulders— ‘Do you think—’ he saw her breath fluttering—‘do you think I should let anyone—anyone—kiss me—like that! just because I was sorry for them—or for someone else?’ He stood motionless beneath her touch. ‘You _are_ sorry for me—you angel!—and you’re sorry for Otto—and you want to make up to everybody—and make everybody happy—and⸺’ ‘And one can’t!’ said Connie quietly, her eyes bright with tears—‘Don’t I know that? I repeat’—her colour was very bright—‘But perhaps you won’t believe that—that’—then she laughed—‘_of my own free will_, I never kissed anybody before?’ ‘Constance!’ He threw his strong arms round her again. But she slipped out of them. ‘Am I believed?’ The tone was peremptory. Falloden stooped, lifted her hand and kissed it humbly. ‘You know you ought to marry a Duke!’ he said, trying to laugh, but with a swelling throat. ‘Thank you—I never saw a Duke yet I wanted to marry.’ ‘That’s it. You’ve seen so little. I am a pauper, and you might marry anybody. It’s taking an unfair advantage. Don’t you see—what⸺’ ‘What my aunts will think?’ asked Constance coolly—‘Oh yes, I’ve considered all that.’