"'Rather nice'?" he repeated, in a peculiar tone. "Oh, yes--that does not surprise me." "And some day," she continued gaily, "although I'm nobody just now, I may become a really famous person--and then you might be quite happy to know me!" Her eyes danced with mirth as she rallied him. He looked at her strangely. "No--it can never bring me happiness. . . _Ah, mais jamais_!" he added, with sudden passion. Diana was startled. "It--it was horrid of you to cut me," she said in a troubled voice. "My punishment lies in your hands," he returned. "When I leave you at the Rectory--after to-day--you can end our acquaintance if you choose. And I suppose--you, _will_ choose. It would be contrary to human nature to throw away such an excellent opportunity for retaliation--feminine human nature, anyway." He spoke with a kind of half-savage raillery, and Diana winced under it. His moods changed so rapidly that she was bewildered. At one moment there would be an exquisite gentleness in his manner when he spoke to her, at the next a contemptuous irony that cut like a whip. "Would it be--a punishment?" she asked at last. He checked a sudden movement towards her. "What do you suppose?" he said quietly. "I don't know what to think. If it would be a punishment, why were you so anxious to take it out of my hands? It was you who ended our acquaintance on Sunday, remember." "Yes, I know. Twice I've closed the door between us, and twice fate has seen fit to open it again." "Twice? . . . Then--then it _was_ you--in Grellingham Place that day?" "Yes," he acknowledged simply. Diana bent her head to hide the small, secret smile that carved her lips. At last, after a pause-- "But why--why do you not want to know me?" she asked wonderingly. "Not want to?" he muttered below his breath. "God in heaven! _Not want to_!" His hand moved restlessly. After a minute he answered her, speaking very gently. "Because I think you were born to stand in the sunshine. Some of us stand always in the shadow; it creeps about our feet, following us wherever we go. And I would not darken the sunlit places of your life with the shadow that clings to mine." There was an undercurrent of deep sadness in his tones. "Can't you--can't you banish the shadow?" faltered Diana. A sense of tragedy oppressed her. "Life is surely made for happiness," she added, a little wistfully.