"Besides," he broke in almost fiercely, "you've got your living to make like the rest of us. Yes, I know--I know! You regard this as a Heaven-sent opportunity. It isn't. It's quite the reverse. If you were unhappy in London, you'll be a thousand times more so there. And--and I shan't be able to help you--shan't get anywhere near you there." "It's very kind of you," began Juliet. He cut her short again. "No, it isn't kind. You're the only woman of your station I have ever met who has deigned to treat me as an equal. It--it's a bit rash on your part, you know." He smiled at her abruptly, and something sent a queer sensation through her--a curious feeling of familiarity that held and yet eluded her. "And--as you see--I'm taking full advantage of it. I hope you won't think me an awful cad after this. I can't help it if you do. Miss Moore, forgive my asking,--are you really obliged to work for your living? Can't you--can't you wait a little?" Juliet was looking at him with wonder in her soft eyes. His sudden vehemence was rather bewildering. "I don't quite know," she said vaguely. "But I rather want to do something, you know." "Oh, I know--I know," he said. "But you're not obliged to do this. Something else is bound to turn up. Or if it doesn't--if it doesn't--" He ground his heel deep into the yielding sand, and ended in a husky undertone. "My God! What wouldn't I give for the privilege of working for you?" The words were uttered and beyond recall. He looked her straight in the face as he spoke them, but an instant later he turned and stared out over the wide, calm sea in a stillness that was somehow more forcible even than his low, half-strangled speech had been. Juliet stood silent also, almost as if she were waiting for him to recover his balance. Her eyes also were gazing straight before her to that far mysterious sky-line. They were very grave and rather sad. He broke the silence after many seconds. "You will never speak to me again after this." "I hope I shall," she said gently. He wheeled and faced her. "You're not angry then?" She shook her head. "No." His eyes flashed over her with amazing swiftness. "I almost wish you were," he said. "But why?" she said. "Because I should know then it mattered a little. Now I know it doesn't. I am just one of the many. Isn't that it? There are so many of us that one more or less doesn't count either way." He laughed ruefully. "Well, I won't repeat the offence. Even your patience must have its limits. Shall we go back?" It was then that Juliet turned, moved by an impulse so strangely urgent that she could not pause to analyse it. She held out her hand to him, quickly, shyly, and as he gripped and held it, she spoke, her voice tremulous, breathless, barely coherent. "I am not--offended. I am--very--very--deeply--honoured. Only you--you--don't understand."