“If I’d known, everything might have been different.” Rose laughed. “But we don’t want it to be different.” “You won’t be happy,” Henrietta wailed. “You, at least,” Rose said sternly, “have done nothing to make me so.” Henrietta stilled her sobbing. It was quite true. She had taken everything—Aunt Rose’s money, Aunt Rose’s love, her wonderful forbearance and the love of Charles. “I don’t know what to do,” she cried. “Come into the drawing-room and we’ll talk about it.” But they did not talk. Rose played the piano in the candlelight for a little while before she slipped out of the room. Henrietta sat on the little stool without even the fire to keep her company. She was too dazed to think. She did not understand why Aunt Rose should choose to marry Francis Sales and she gave it up, but loneliness stretched before her like a long, hard road. If only Charles would come! He always came when he was wanted. A memory reached her weary mind. This was “the day after to-morrow,” and Aunt Rose expected him. She leapt up and examined herself in the mirror. She was one of those lucky people who can cry and leave no trace; colour had sprung into her cheeks, but it faded quickly. She had waited for him before and he had not come, and she was tired of waiting. She sank into Aunt Caroline’s chair and shut her eyes; she almost slept. She was on the verge of dreams when the bell jangled harshly. She did not move. She sat in an agony of fear that this would not be Charles; but the door opened and he entered. Susan pronounced his name, and he stood on the threshold, thinking the room was empty. A very small voice pierced the stillness. “Charles, I’m here.” “I won’t come a step farther,” Charles said severely, “until you tell me if you love me.” “I thought you’d come to see Aunt Rose.” “Henrietta—” “Yes, I love you, I love you,” she said hurriedly. “I’m nodding my head hard. No, stay where you are, stay where you are. I’ve been loving you for weeks and you’ve treated me shamefully. No, no, I’ve got to be different, I’ve got to give. You didn’t treat me shamefully.” “No,” he said stolidly, “I didn’t. Here’s the ring, and I took that house. I’ve been renting it ever since I knew we were going to live in it. Here’s the ring.” He dropped it into her lap. She looked down at the stones, hard and bright like herself. “Aunt Rose will be very much surprised,” she said, and she was too happy to wonder why he laughed.