Louis looked at her steadily. “This is the ninth time I have asked you. How many times have you taken me seriously, Lizabeth? Not once.” “I should have been so very sorry to take you seriously, you see, Louis dear,” said Elizabeth, speaking very sweetly and gently. Louis Mainwaring walked to the window and stood there in silence for a minute or two. Elizabeth began to look troubled. When he turned round and came back his face was rather white. “No,” he said, “you’ve never taken me seriously—never once. But it’s been serious enough, for me. You never thought it went deep—but it did. Some people hide their deep things under silence—every one can understand that. Others hide theirs under words—a great many light words. Jests. That’s been my way. It’s a better mask than the other, but I don’t want any mask between us now. I want you to understand. We’ve always talked about my being in love with you. We’ve always laughed about it, but now I want you to understand. It’s me, the whole of me—all there is—all there ever will be——” He was stammering now and almost incoherent. His hand shook. Elizabeth got up quickly. “Oh, Louis dear, Louis dear,” she said. She put her arm half round him, and for a moment he leaned his head against her shoulder. When he raised it he was trying to smile. “Oh, Lady of Consolation,” he said, and then, “how you would spoil a man whom you loved! There, Lizabeth, you needn’t worry about it. You see, I’ve always known that you would never love me.” “Oh, Louis, but I love you very much, only not just like that.” “Yes, I know. I’ve always known it and I’ve always known that there was some one else whom you did love—just like that. What I’ve been waiting for is to see it making you happy. And it doesn’t make you happy. It never has. And, lately, there’s been something fresh—something that has hurt. You’ve been very unhappy. As soon as you came here I knew. What is it? Can’t you tell me?” Elizabeth sat down again, but she did not turn her eyes away. “No, Louis, I don’t think I can,” she said. Louis’s chin lifted. “Does Agneta know?” he asked with a quick flash of jealousy. “No, she doesn’t,” said Elizabeth, reprovingly. “And she has never asked.” Louis laughed. “That’s for my conscience, I suppose,” he said, “but I don’t mind. I can bear it a lot better if you haven’t told Agneta. And look here, Lizabeth, even if you never tell me a single word, I shall always know things about you—things that matter. I’ve always known when things went wrong with you, and I always shall.” It was obviously quite as an afterthought that he added: “Do you mind?” “No,” said Elizabeth, slowly, “I don’t think I mind. But don’t look too close, Louis dear—not just now. It’s kinder not to.” “All right,” said Louis.