Was it some day-dream that so held her, Mark wondered, or pure consideration for the trout that he had presumably come out to catch? Either way, her silence and abstraction had the effect of so intensifying his own emotion that speech seemed desecration. Besides—he had spoken already. Could there really be any need to tell her again how swiftly and strangely she had swept him from his moorings, so that life held nothing, momentarily, but his glorified vision of herself? Last night the sound of her voice, echoing his own confession, had silenced, for good, the whispers of prudence that strove to curb his impetuous spirit, counselling delay. If only that confounded Miss O’Neill had given him a chance while the glamour was on them both, the whole thing might have seemed less egregiously precipitate. Now that he had schemed for half an hour’s privacy; now that she sat there, only a few yards away, seemingly unaware of his existence, a shiver of uncertainty chilled him. A fortnight ago to-day, while he and Maurice were rambling in search of subjects, he had beheld her for the first time. For him that fortnight was an indefinable age. For her it might simply be fourteen days⸺ But this sort of havering would never do. He was a strong man, not unschooled in suffering, but little used to be thwarted in his desire. And he did not seriously expect to be thwarted now. Deliberately he laid aside his fishing tackle, and leaning on one elbow looked up at the girl, whose rock was set a little higher along the sloping bank of the stream. For a few seconds he took his fill of her, from the coronet of her hair to the seductive curves of her mouth and chin that made such tender atonement for the cool directness of her eyes. Still she did not move; but her lips parted in a small sigh, and the spell was broken. Mark rose and planted himself before her. ‘Miss Alison,’ he began—and could get no further. ‘Well?’ she asked with that distracting lift of her lashes. ‘Is the precious tackle out of gear?’ Her coolness almost angered him and gave him sudden command of his tongue. ‘_Tackle?_ D’you really suppose I came out here to catch trout?’ ‘You said so last night. And you seemed to be making elaborate arrangements⸺’ ‘So I was—to get half an hour alone with you,’ he announced bluntly, and saw the ghost of a blush creep up under her skin. He wanted simply to take her in his arms without more ado. Instead, he sat down close to the rock, plunged his hands in the heather, and leaned towards her. ‘I was trying to tell you last night. Didn’t you understand?’ ‘N-no. I thought the music and—the sentiment had rather carried you away.’ ‘It was _you_ who carried me away. The music was a kind of safety-valve, that’s all.’ He leaned still nearer. ‘Bel—is there a ghost of a chance for me? Is it sheer conceit and impertinence on my part to ask—so soon?’ ‘No—oh no.’ And suddenly she covered her face as if the intensity of his gaze affected her like strong sunlight.