Love comes to some gently, imperceptibly, creeping in as the tide, through unsuspected creeks and inlets, creeps on a sleeping man, until he wakes to find himself surrounded. But to others it comes as a wave, breaking on them, beating them down, whirling them away. It was so with John. In that instant when their eyes met the miracle must have happened. It seemed to him, as he recalled the scene now, that he had loved her before he had had time to frame his first remark. It amazed him that he could ever have been blind to the fact that he loved her, she was so obviously the only girl in the world. "You--you don't remember me," he stammered. She was flushing a little under his stare, but her eyes were shining. "I remember you very well, Mr. Maude," she said with a smile. "I thought I knew your shoulders before you turned round. What are you doing here?" "I--" There was a hush. The _croupier_ had set the ball rolling. A wizened little man and two ladies of determined aspect were looking up disapprovingly. John realized that he was the only person in the room not silent. It was impossible to tell her the story of the change in his fortunes in the middle of this crowd. He stopped, and the moment passed. The ball dropped with a rattle. The tension relaxed. "Won't you take this seat?" said John. "No, thank you. I'm not playing. I only just stopped to look on. My aunt is in one of the rooms, and I want to make her come home. I'm tired." "Have you--?" He caught the eye of the wizened man, and stopped again. "Have you been in Mervo long?" he said, as the ball fell. "I only arrived this morning. It seems lovely. I must explore to-morrow." She was beginning to move off. "Er--" John coughed to remove what seemed to him a deposit of sawdust and unshelled nuts in his throat. "Er--may I--will you let me show you--" prolonged struggle with the nuts and sawdust; then rapidly--"some of the places to-morrow?" He had hardly spoken the words when it was borne in upon him that he was a vulgar, pushing bounder, presuming on a dead and buried acquaintanceship to force his company on a girl who naturally did not want it, and who would now proceed to snub him as he deserved. He quailed. Though he had not had time to collect and examine and label his feelings, he was sufficiently in touch with them to know that a snub from her would be the most terrible thing that could possibly happen to him. She did not snub him. Indeed, if he had been in a state of mind coherent enough to allow him to observe, he might have detected in her eyes and her voice signs of pleasure. "I should like it very much," she said.