Gwen looked at him in despair. What she had intended, of course, was to have flown into the library and looked for her letter. How could she now, with Mr. Boreham standing in the way? And that terrible woman had gone off arm-in-arm with the Warden. Gwen stared at Boreham. An idea struck her. She would go into the library--after dinner--before the men came up. But she must pretend to look for her handkerchief for a minute or two. "Do you call Mrs. Dashwood pretty?" she asked tremulously, not looking at Boreham, but diving her hand into the corners of the chair she had been sitting in. She must find out what men thought of Mrs. Dashwood. She must know the worst--now, when she had the opportunity. "Pretty!" said Boreham, still motionless at the door. "That's not a useful word. She's alluring." "Oh!" said Gwen. She had left off thumping the chair, and now walked slowly to him--wide-eyed with anxiety. To Gwen, a man past his youth, wearing a fair beard and fair eyebrows that were stiff and stuck out like spikes, was scarcely a person of sex at all; but still he would probably know what men thought. "I don't think she is pretty--very," she said, her lips trembling a little as she spoke, and she gazed in a challenging way at Boreham. "She is the most womanly woman I know," said Boreham. "Middleton is probably finding that out already." Gwen patted her waistband where it bulged ever so slightly with her handkerchief. "Womanly!" she repeated in a doubtful voice. "He'll fall in love with her to-day and propose to-morrow. Do him a world of good," said Boreham. "Propose!" Gwen caught her breath. "But he couldn't--she couldn't--he couldn't--marry!" "Couldn't marry--I didn't say marry--I said he will propose to-morrow." Boreham laughed a little in his beard. "I don't understand," stammered the girl. "You mean--she would refuse?" "No," said Boreham. "It mightn't go as far as that--the whole thing is a matter of words--words--words. It's a part of a man's education to fall in love with Mrs. Dashwood!" Gwen blinked at him. A piercing thought struck her brain. Spoken words--they didn't count! Words alone didn't clinch the bargain! Words didn't tie a man up to his promise. Was this the "law"? She must get at the actual "law" of the matter. She knew something about love-making, but nothing about the "law." "Do you mean," she said, and she scarcely recognised her own voice, so great was her concentration of thought and so slowly did she pronounce the enigmatic words, "if he had kissed you as well, he would be obliged to marry one?" Boreham knitted his brows. "If I was, at this moment to kiss you, my dear lady," he began, "I should not be compelled to marry you. Even the gross injustice meted out to us men by the laws (backed up by Mrs. Grundy) dares not go as far as that. But there is no knowing what new oppression is in store for us--in the future." "I only mean," stammered Gwen, "_if_ he had already said--something."