"I'll tell you about Roddy first--a scheme I have for his future. To take him right away from Stephen--kidnap him!" he laughed at her--"and give him a thorough training abroad. I thought of the Art schools at Rome. Let him have the best masters from the beginning. If he likes it he's in the right atmosphere. It's a wonderful place, to my mind, Rome ... It's not like a Public School, of course. At one time I used to think that ... _everything_! But now that I've knocked about a bit I believe that there's nothing half so good as travel for an Englishman--we're too insular by far! "He's jolly clever--those sketches of his show he has talent--if not genius. I honestly think--with a proper chance--he'll make a name for himself one day." "_Do_ you?" She beamed whole-heartedly on the speaker, self-forgetful again. "I think it sounds _too_ lovely!--If only----" she sighed--"it could be done. But Mother would never hear of it. Besides, if she did, we're not rich. Think of what it means, Peter. Why, the journeys alone, from here to Italy and back again for the holidays, would cost a perfect little fortune--let alone his other expenses." "He needn't return to England at all--once he's there," said McTaggart quickly--"that is, not if you agree to the _whole_ plan." His voice changed. A pleading note crept into it, his eyes watched her anxiously. "He could come--for the holidays ... to _us_!" There came a pause, silent, but full. "Jill--little Jill--don't you understand? Don't you know what I _want_--what I'm trying to say?" From the low chair where he sat he reached up and tried to capture the hands clasped round her knees. But, with a swift movement, she drew them away, her head high, her face proud. "To _us_!..." she repeated his words slowly. "Are you asking me to ... _marry_ you, Peter?" The words were jerky. Her gray eyes were fixed still on the garden ahead as though she dared not look at him. "Yes," he said simply--"I love you, Jill." But she sat like a maiden turned to stone, untouched, unresponsive. The cold hand of fear crept round his heart as he watched her face. Was she going to refuse him? Could it be--after all--Bethune! "Jill--" his voice was very low--"Aren't you going to answer me?" He bent closer--"Don't you ... care?" She stirred restlessly under his eyes, her own averted. Then she spoke. "Why should you think ... I cared for you?" Unconsciously her hand stole to her throat, feeling for the chain that hung concealed by the lace of her collar; and, noting the gesture, McTaggart divined her secret thought. Light poured in, dispelling his fears. That scene at Cluar ... the "double heart!" that lay upon her girlish breast. "I don't!" he caught her up quickly. "I only wish to Heaven I did. You've never given the slightest sign--I know myself ... but not _you_."