Vane certainly did have a thrill of pleasurable excitement at this speech. It was the sort of glow, the tingling feeling about the waist he had felt when about to mount a strange horse whose temper he had not tested. He looked at the girl. She was half sitting, half leaning, against the wall. Her flowing dress had caught the sheen of the moon, and the white figure shone brightly against the dark leaves. She might have been a naiad or a wood-nymph, and yet there was a subtle feminine presence about her. With some girls you can associate on terms of fellowship, make companions of them, perhaps even sit on the fence in the moonlight and talk to them amicably, as to another man. But you could never forget that Miss Thomas was a woman. "I was really very much hurt," she said, "and I think you ought to have begged my pardon." "I did," said Vane, "and I told you I had the best possible excuse." "But you never told me what the excuse was." The young man sat on a lower stone than hers, and, as he looked up to her, the radiance fell full upon her face, and he saw the moon reflected in her eyes. Why should he doubt this girl? Had he not been deeply in love with her? And, after all, had she not borne herself, in all their relations, as he would have wished her to, as he would have wished her to be, supposing that she cared for him? She had often been right in being offended with him, but she was too gentle to be long angry--she was lovely in forgiving. Had he not plainly let her know what should be the signal for him to declare his love? Was not this as much encouragement as any woman would give? Strangely enough, now that he was sure of her he almost doubted of himself. "Do you really ask me to tell you of my excuse?" said Vane, and he felt a little ashamed of himself for the prevaricating question. "Do you not know?" Miss Thomas said nothing, but made a slight motion of her dress. Vane bit his lip, and felt that this was cowardly. The moon had gone into a cloud, but he fancied, from the position of her head, that she was looking at him with her large eyes. Her dress seemed to have a light of its own, which made her form still visible in the darkness. Suddenly he pictured to himself the way his conduct would look to her if she really cared for him, and he felt sure that she did, and he knew that she attracted him more than any woman he had ever met. "Because I love you, Winifred," said Vane, and he laid his hand on hers. "Oh--h," sighed the girl with a sort of shudder, as if he had given her pain, "I am so sorry." Vane caught his breath. "Oh, I am so sorry!" Vane pressed her little hand convulsively. "Oh, I never thought it was this. Why did you tell me? Why did you not leave it unsaid? Now I shall lose you for always." Her voice broke in a sob.