Lister looked at her through half-shut eyes, and noticed the firmness of her mouth and the clear, steady gaze of her eyes. "You have a strong will, I think, dear," he murmured admiringly. "I have, Cyril--as strong as that of my father. When our two wills clash"--she shrugged--"there may be murder committed." "Bella!"--the young man looked startled--"what dreadful things you say." "It is the truth," she insisted quietly; "why shirk obvious facts? For some reason, which I cannot discover, my father detests you." "By Jove!" Cyril sat up alertly. "And why? He has never seen me, as I have kept well out of his way after your warning. But I have had a sly glimpse of him, and he seems to be a jolly sort of animal--I beg your pardon for calling him so." "Man is an animal, and my father is a man," said the girl coolly, "a neolithic man, if you like. You are a man also, Cyril--the kind of firm, bold, daring man I like. Yet if you met with my father, I wonder----" She paused, and it flashed across her brain that her father and her lover would scarcely suit one another. Both were strong-willed and both masterful. She wondered if they met, who would come out top-dog; so she phrased it in her quick brain. Then abruptly she added, before Cyril could speak. "Be quiet for a few minutes. I wish to think." Lister nodded, and, leaning on one elbow, chewed a corn-stalk and watched her in silence. He was a slim, tall, small-boned young man of the fairskinned type, with smooth brown hair, and a small, drooping brown moustache. His present attitude indicated indolence, and he certainly loved to be lazy when a pretty girl was at his elbow. But on occasions he could display wonderful activity, and twice had been chosen as war correspondent to a London daily, when one or two of the little wars on the fringe of the Empire had been in progress. He was not particularly good-looking, but the freshness of his five-and-twenty years, and the virility of his manner, made women bestow a great deal of attention on him. Much more than he deserved, in fact, as, until he met with Bella, he had given very little attention to the sex. He had flirted in many countries, and with many women; but this was the first time he had made genuine love, or had felt the genuine passion. And with a country maiden, too, unsophisticated and pathetically innocent. So he meditated as he watched her, until, struck by the firm curve of the chin and the look of resolve on the tightly-closed lips, he confessed privately that if this country maiden were placed in the forefront of society, the chances were that she would do more than hold her own. There were Joan-of-Arc-like possibilities in that strongly-featured face. "But, upon my word, I am quite afraid," he said aloud, following up his train of thought and speaking almost unconsciously. "Of what?" asked Bella, turning quickly towards him. "Of you. Such a determined young woman, as you are. If I make you my wife, I know who will be master."