“I did not think you would ever guess.” “I didn’t. I never dreamed there was a chance for me; never dreamed it.—That’s what I told them all;—that there wasn’t a chance.” Alix, too, had been gazing before her, sitting there beside him in her wet white cloak; but as he said this she leaned forward and put her hands up to her face. “Oh, darling, are you crying?” Giles’s arms were round her as he asked it. “Have I been so stupid?—Is it really me you love?” “Ever since that day I came to you from Toppie.” She was crying; but it was in his arms and his cheek was against her dear wet head. “Happy;—Happy;—Happy”—were the only words in Giles’s mind and they went on and on like a song while he heard the rain falling sweetly and the brightness was all about them. He listened to the rain for a long time, but when he spoke it was to answer her last words.—“It’s been since then with me, too.” Alix’s head lay against his shoulder and he held both her hands in his against his breast; and he was seeing the little French girl, the strange, ominous little French girl, sitting in the Victoria waiting-room with her straight black brows and her eyes calm over their fear. He was seeing the lovely dancing head bound with crystal, aware of him, looking for him even in her joy; he was seeing the Alix who had come from Toppie. “We’ve always been so near, from the first, haven’t we?” he said. “So near, Giles. That was what troubled me, though I did not understand, when Jerry asked me to marry him.—You were so much nearer than Jerry.” “And who did you think I should believe it to be, darling, when I saw the letter to Jerry?—Didn’t you know I’d have to ask you some time? Did you really believe, when we were so near as that, you could hide it from me?” “I thought I could. I had to stop Jerry from coming. I could have pretended that there was someone you didn’t know.—Someone who might not love me, but whom I should always love.” “You who promised never to tell me a lie!” “But for those things women must always lie, Giles.” She raised her head now to look at him. Her face was radiant yet grave. “There will never be anything to hide any more;—never—never.—There is nothing you do not understand. You understand all my life. You understand Maman.—Giles, how happy this will make her.” “I hope it will. But I came to plead Jerry’s cause, you know. She thinks I’m pleading it now.” “How happy it will make her that you did not have to plead it.” “Will it? I can’t help being afraid that she’ll be disappointed. She’d have preferred the better match for you, darling little Alix.” “She will not think it better. It was all she had left to hope for, that was all. It has wounded her pride horribly to have to hope for it—after the bitter things it has meant for her and for me.”