"I appreciate the hurt, but not your remedy," he answered. "You would start a rebellion for a grievance. No successful upheaval was ever based on so paltry a foundation. Nothing worth achieving can be brought about by unworthy methods. Look here!" He joined her at the window, and stood beside her scrutinising her partly averted face. "You don't know how much this means to me... your part in it. I'm not concerning myself for the present with anything outside that I hate the idea of your becoming obsessed with this cult of revenge. I hate it--in connexion with you. You are splendid and sweet; you are too good for that sort of thing--altogether. Miss Krige--Honor, don't waste anything so precious as life by living in the past: the present is so good--so tremendously good. Don't spoil it." He possessed himself of her hand and gripped it firmly, holding it between both his. "I'm a blundering idiot. I'm saying all the wrong things. Be patient with me," he entreated. "I know you've been hurt--badly hurt. I'd like to make reparation, if that were possible... and it isn't. But I do care... Honor, you know I care..." A soft colour crept into her cheeks, deepened, spread to her brow and throat. There was a quality in his voice, in his touch, which was unmistakable. She was unprepared. He had come perilously near, she felt, to hating her that morning. She had realised his anger and been unmoved by it; his tenderness affected her deeply; but she managed to control her emotion. "You have been very considerate always," she returned quietly--"and impartial I've liked that in you. Whatever happens, I believe that in our hearts you and I will remain friends--even if we don't meet in the future." "Oh! we shall meet," he said confidently. But she shook her head and smiled faintly and made no reply in words. "Do you mean you would rather we didn't meet?" he asked, in tones of hurt surprise. "No; not that." She attempted to withdraw her hand, but he prevented her, and she desisted. "What then?" he asked, and was conscious of a sudden overmastering passion for her. A fierce desire to seize her and crush her in his arms wellnigh swept him off his balance. Hunger for her gripped him and hurt him like a physical ache. He wanted Honor at that moment more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. "Nothing can keep us apart but your own wish... nothing. Honor, I want you... I love you." His voice shook. He pulled her towards him a little roughly and threw an arm about her and held her close. "Dear! ... my beautiful dear!" he said. "I love you. Do you love me? ... a little?" The soft colour deepened in her face. She looked up at him and smiled; then her eyelids drooped over the shining eyes. "I like you," she admitted. "Ah!" The disappointment occasioned by this mild concession betrayed itself in his voice. With her intense nature, so lukewarm a response was almost a rebuff.