When they were seated, and she had poured out his coffee, they found it very difficult to know what to say. Virginia felt herself held back by what he had said the previous day. He had spoken as though he thought her stay at Omberleigh would be only temporary. She was eager to settle down, to know what she might do and plan, to begin some kind of a life together. In face of his attitude, she felt unable to make any advance, to offer any request or suggestion. At last it occurred to her to ask what he had to do that day. He began to tell her that he was due in a certain part of the estate to----Then he pulled himself up, and said, with a covert eagerness: "Unless you want me?" She rested her elbows on the table and looked shyly at him. "Of course I should like to have your society for a while," she answered. "I want to go round the place again. I was so stupid that first day--I felt so ill I hardly knew what I was doing. But now I can walk finely! If you have time----" "But of course I have. Caunter is all right without me. I am at your service. Do you remember one day when you were on the terrace, and Mrs. Ferris was here, you said, or she said, that you would like to remodel the garden? Well, you know this is the time of year to do that. If you set to work now it will be all ready for next spring." She looked at him earnestly. "Please forgive me for asking," she said hesitatingly, "but yesterday I thought you said--you spoke as if you did not mean to keep me here. Did you mean that, or was it my fancy?" He cleared his throat. "Oh, that was your fancy. Certainly it was. I was only thinking that--of course everything is uncertain--human life, for instance. I'm a good deal older than you. If anything should--should happen to me, for example--this place would be yours. I have bequeathed it to you. So it is worth your while to make it what you like." "If anything happened to you?" Obviously she was surprised, and also distressed. "Osbert, what is likely to happen to you?" "Oh, nothing, of course," he replied hastily. "Only sometimes the unexpected may arrive, may it not?" "Don't talk like that," she cried impetuously. "It would be too dreadful, if anything stopped us just at the beginning--just as we are making a start. Oh, do you remember----" She broke off short. "I remember every single smallest thing you ever did or said," he threw out suddenly. "Then you remember when you and I had lunch together at the Savoy. I bored you horribly by trying to make conversation, when you didn't want to talk; and you told me that you knew all about me, as if you had known me all my life. I didn't think it was true," she laughed, playing with a fork and not daring to look at him. "Do you think it was?" "It was as false, as detestable, as mistaken, and as insulting as all the other things I said that day," was his energetic answer. She looked up then, and smiled at him. She was beginning to adjust her ideas.