McTaggart was stung by the truth of the words. "Don't!" there was real pain in his voice. "It hurts awfully," he paused. "If only you understood men," he went on miserably--"if you knew...! We're rotters I'll own. Young and old--but until a fellow's _really_ in love it doesn't seem to matter much. It's just ... well, ordinary life. And, Jill----" his eyes were beseeching now--"I think, all the time, it's been really _you_--though I didn't guess it at the first! "I've always come back to you--to that dear child's face of yours--those grey eyes..." he stopped, stung by the fear of the years ahead without her. Jill's dark lashes were lowered now. He tried in vain to probe her thought, to catch some faint sign of hope. "I've always come back," he said again, "I always shall. It's _love_ this time. It's the woman a man returns to, you know, who holds his heart in her hands. Those other ... affairs were mere passion. I see it now--now it's too late! What a fool I've been...!" his head sank down for a moment on his clenched fists. Then he raised it and faced Jill, a new light in the blue eyes. "I love you so," his voice rang, "that, if I thought it were better for you to go away right out of your life, I believe _now_ I could do it, Jill. But I don't. I _know_ I'd make you happy!" He saw a quiver cross her face, and breathlessly he leaned toward her. "_Don't_ you care? Tell me, Jill. Couldn't you learn to care ... a little?" Slowly the girl raised her eyes. He saw that they were wet with tears. "I've loved you all my life," she said. A cry broke from him. He slipped down on his knees before her, arms outstretched. "Jill! ... My darling! What do you mean?" Into the beautiful childish face came a tenderness he had never known--the dream come true ... the "dream of his life." "I suppose--I must marry you," said Jill. CHAPTER XXXI Miss Elizabeth Uniacke wore an aggressive air. She stood in front of the mirror, her gray eyes critical, studying the effect of her newly made gown. On her knees beside her a stout dressmaker waited, in mute suspense, her mouth full of pins. Her attitude was that of profound admiration, but in her heart she quailed, foreseeing the verdict. "Too tight round the ankles," said Aunt Elizabeth. Mrs. Crouch, between the pins, bleated her dismay. She assured "Meddam" it was the latest fashion: that to alter it by a "hair-breadth" was to "ruin the cut!" "I can't help that----" Miss Uniacke scowled--"I've told you before--I won't be trussed like a fowl. I don't care what frights other women make of themselves! I've my own style, and I shall keep to it." She placed her pretty hands to either side of her waist, tightly confined by a broad Petersham belt, and with a little wriggle of her angular body seemed to shoot up like a crocus on its stem. Mrs. Crouch swallowed a heavy sigh--a somewhat difficult and precarious performance!