"Am I awfully heavy?" she asked, nervously anxious to introduce some element of commonplace. And Peter, looking down at the delicately angled face which lay against his shoulder, drew his breath hard. "No," he answered briefly. "You're not heavy." There was that in his gaze which brought the warm colour into her face. Her lids fell swiftly, veiling her eyes, and she turned her face quickly towards his shoulder. All that remained visible was the edge of the little turban hat she wore and, below this, a dusky sweep of hair against her white skin. He went on in silence, conscious in every fibre of his being of the supple body gathered so close against his own, of the young, sweet, clean-cut curve of her cheek, and of the warmth of her hair against his shoulder. He jerked his head aside, his mouth set grimly, and crossed quickly to the other bank of the river. As he let her slip to the ground, steadying her with his arms about her, he bent swiftly and for an instant his lips just brushed her hair. Nan scarcely felt the touch of his kiss, it fell so lightly, but she sensed it through every nerve of her. Standing in the twilight, shaken and clutching wildly after her self-control, she knew that if he touched her again or took her in his arms, she would yield helplessly--gladly! Peter knew it, too, knew that the merest thread of courage and self-respect kept them apart. His arms strained at his sides. Forcing his voice to an impersonal, level tone, he said practically: "It's getting late. Come on, little pal, we must make up time, or they'll be sending out a search party for us from Mallow." It was late in the evening before Nan and Peter found themselves alone together again. Everyone was standing about in the big hall exchanging good nights and last snippets of talk before taking their several ways to bed. Peter drew Nan a little to one side. "Nan, is it true that you're engaged to Trenby?" he asked. "Quite true." She had to force the answer to her lips. Mallory's face was rather stern. "Why didn't you tell me this afternoon?" "I--I couldn't, Peter," she said, under her breath. "I couldn't." His face still wore that white, unsmiling look. But he drew Nan's shaking hands between his own and held them very gently as he put his next question. "You don't care for him." It was more an assertion, than a question, though it demanded a reply. "No." His grasp of her hands tightened. "Then, for God's sake, don't make the same hash of your life as I made of mine. Believe me, Nan"--his voice roughened--"it's far worse to be married to someone you don't love than to remain unmarried all your days." CHAPTER XIV RELATIONS-IN-LAW "I am very glad to meet you, my dear." The frosty voice entirely failed to confirm the sense of the words as Lady Gertrude Trenby bent forward and imprinted a somewhat chilly kiss on Nan's cheek.