Isla laughed a little and shrugged her shoulders. She was feeling so warm and comforted and happy that she wished the hour to last for ever. "How kind of you to think of this room! As I was dressing I thought how horrid it would be in the restaurant to-night." "I knew it would be. I grudged it. This was the thing," he said. And his pulses thrilled as he thought of all the days that were coming when they should dine together alone. It came to an end at last, and Rosmead showed haste in getting the table cleared and the coffee-tray brought in. Then he wheeled a big easy chair towards the fire for her, and he himself stood against the end of the mantel-shelf, while an odd silence fell between them. "I am sure you want to smoke. I should like it," she said a little nervously, fearing what she saw in his eyes. He shook his head. "That would be desecration. By and by, perhaps, but not yet. I wonder if you know just what it meant to me to see you to-night downstairs, just what it means to have you here like this, alone?" She made no answer, and the veil dropped over her eyes, but her lips trembled, and she worked with her fingers in the fringes of the delicate white scarf which had fallen from her shoulders across her arms. "You must know that I love you," he said. Then in a low voice which vibrated keenly with intense feeling he added, "I have lived for this hour during all these interminable months. I have risen up each new day, thinking it brought me a day nearer to it and to you. I know all you have suffered. Let me try to make you forget. Give your precious life into my keeping, Isla. You are the only woman I have ever cared for. The knowledge that you were waiting somewhere for me has kept me a boy in heart for your sake. Will you give yourself to me?" There was terror, anguish, hopelessness in her eyes. She gave a small shuddering sigh and buried her face in her hands. Instantly he was on his knees beside her, trying with a very gentle force to take her hands away. Suddenly she drew back, rose to her feet, and faced him--very pale, very stricken, but wholly calm. "Oh, please don’t say any more. I--I must not listen. It was even wicked of me to come here when I knew--when I knew--and even hoped that you would speak. I--I am not free. I am the promised wife of another man." Rosmead’s face became set like a stone. "But you are the woman God has given to me," he said quietly. "Who is the man?" "Neil Drummond," she answered feverishly. "Don’t look at me like that! Let me sit down again, and you stand where you were before and I will tell you how it came about. You said that you knew all I have suffered. But you don’t. I want to tell you everything. Then you will understand." He obeyed her to the letter, and with the breadth of the hearth between them she began her recital.