She passed into the hall, sorry--oh, so sorry! But the library door was open and she halted, poised birdlike for one glance. The man at the desk had his back to her and she said nothing, yet he turned, gave a smothered sound and jumped up. She shut her eyes as she felt his arms go about her and his kisses on her hair, her senses blurred in a strange ineffably sweet confusion of timidity and delight. “Oh, Anne,” she heard his voice between the kisses. “I was waiting for you.” “Some one will see us,” she whispered. “Take care.” She could feel the beating of his heart through his coat. Her hands went up to his shoulders feeling along the rough tweed and with her lids down-drooped she lifted her face. “Darling,” he breathed, when the kiss was over, “I thought you were never coming.” “I had to stay with Sybil. She didn’t want to be alone.” “But _you_ wanted to be here?” “Just _here_,” she laid a finger on his breast and broke into smothered, breathless laughter. He laughed too and they drew apart, their hands sliding together and interlocking. It was all so new, so bewilderingly entrancing, that they did not know how to express it, the man staring wonder-struck, the girl, with her quivering laughter that was close to tears, looking this way and that, not knowing where to look. “I ought to go,” she whispered. “They’ll be coming,” but made no move. “Wait till they do.” Then with a sudden practical facing of realities, “When will we be married?” “Oh, not for ages! I’m not used to being engaged yet!” “I am--I never was before but I must have had a talent for it, I’ve taken to it so well.” “Oh, Hugh!” Her laughter came more naturally, his with it. They were like a pair of children, delighting in a little secret. “Won’t they be surprised when they hear? Nobody has a suspicion of it.” She looked so enchanting with her eyebrows arched in mischievous query that he made a movement to clasp her again, and then came the creak of an opening door from the floor above. “Hist!” she held up a warning hand and slid away, her face, glancing back for a last look, beautiful in its radiant joy. Bassett moved to the stair-foot. Once again he had to come down to earth with a bump. He passed his hand over his face as if to wipe off an expression incompatible with disagreeable interviews. This must be Joe. It _was_ Joe, dressed for travel in knickerbockers and a Norfolk jacket, a golf cap on the back of his head. He carried an overcoat across his arm, in his hands a suit-case and a fishing-rod done up in a canvas case. At the sight of Bassett he halted, and the elder man noticed a change in his expression, a quick focusing to attention. “Oh,” he said. “Want to see me, Bassett?” “Yes, I want to speak to you before you go.” Joe descended. Stopping a step above Bassett, he set down his baggage and leaned on the banister, politely waiting. Bassett spoke with lowered voice: