"Matters of state--er--revolution--and that sort of thing," he mumbled, eying her; "but I thought it might gratify you to know that I am Prince George of Rumtifoo----" "_What!_" The silence was deadly. "Do you know," she said deliberately, "that I believe you think I am mentally unsound. _Do_ you?" "I--you--" he began to stutter fearfully. "_Do_ you?" "W-well, either you or I----" "Nonsense! I _thought_ that marriage ceremony was a miserably inadequate affair!... And I am hurt--grieved--amazed that you should do such a--a cowardly----" "What!" he exclaimed, stung to the quick. "Yes, it is cowardly to deceive a woman." "I meant it kindly--supposing----" "That I am mentally unsound? Why do you suppose that?" "Because--Good Heavens--because in this century, and in this city, people who never before saw one another don't begin to talk of marrying----" "I explained to you"--she was half crying now, and her voice broke deliciously--"I told you what I'd done, didn't I?" "You said you had got a spark," he admitted, utterly bewildered by her tears. "Don't cry--please don't. Something is all wrong here--there is some terrible misunderstanding. If you will only explain it to me----" She dried her eyes mechanically: "Come here," she said. "I don't believe I did explain it clearly." And, very carefully, very minutely, she began to tell him about the psychic waves, and the instrument, and the new company formed to exploit it on a commercial basis. She told him what had happened that morning to her; how her disobedience had cost her so much misery. She informed him about her father, and that florid and rotund gentleman's choleric character. "If you are here when I tell him I'm married," she said, "he will probably frighten you to death; and that's one of the reasons why I wish to get it over and get you safely away before he returns. As for me, now that I know the worst, I want to get the worst over and--and live out my life quietly somewhere.... So now you see why I am in such a hurry, don't you?" He nodded as though stunned, leaning there on the table, hands folded, head bent. "I am so very sorry--for you," she said. "I know how you must feel about it. But if we are obliged to marry some time had we not better get it over and then--never--see--one another----" He lifted his head, then stood upright. Her soft lips were mute, but the question still remained in her eyes. So, for a long while, they looked at each other; and the color under his cheekbones deepened, and the pink in her cheeks slowly became pinker. "Suppose," he said, under his breath, "that I--wish--to return--to you?" "_I_ do not wish it----" "Try." "Try to--to wish for----" "For my return. Try to wish that you also desire it. Will you?" "If you are going to--to talk that way--" she stammered. "Yes, I am." "Then--then----" "Is there any reason why I should not, if we are engaged?" he asked. "We _are_--engaged, are we not?" "Engaged?" "Yes. Are we?"