Ruth watched for Pendragon’s going and followed him. He made his way to the enclosed veranda. She stood a moment looking through the glass door, watching him as he paced up and down, smoking a pipe. What she was going to do required courage; she might only meet with the cold rebuff that is due to meddlesome persons, but Gloria’s happiness was at stake and she could only fail, so she walked timidly out to him. She waited patiently until he turned and faced her. She thought she saw a look of disappointment cross his face when he saw who had interrupted his solitude. That look, fancied or real, encouraged her to go on. “I wanted to thank you for doing what you did—for not giving up, and to tell you how happy I am that you’re well again,” she began. “Yes—I am well again—I walk and eat and sleep and wake again—I am alive.” “And I wanted to ask you if you’re going to stop now— You’ve saved Gloria from George and from the Prince—are you going to let her go away now that you have accomplished so much?” “My dear child, I can’t kidnap Gloria—she’s not the sort of woman one kidnaps—not even the sort one woos and wins. She is the other sort—the only sort worth while I think—the princess who calls her own swayamvara, and makes her own choice.” “But she did choose.” “She has chosen too often.” “Do you mean that even if Gloria still loved you you would not marry her just because she has—because she has—” All her old ideas and training rose up and kept her from finishing the sentence “because she has had two other husbands.” “If Gloria had married one hundred men I would still want her—don’t you understand that?” He spoke almost fiercely. “But you don’t understand—you’re too young; it isn’t that; but Gloria doesn’t love me. If she did she would tell me so. She knows that I love her and she has shown very plainly that she doesn’t want my love. I appreciate your kindness,” he went on in a calmer tone, “but don’t trouble any more—what is written is written and can’t be changed no matter how one tries.” “If I give you my word of honour that Gloria does love you, what then? She told me so—she does know that you love her, but she thinks you don’t—she thinks the husbands make a difference. She doesn’t believe that a man could understand that they were just—just incidents.” Neither laughed at the idea of this twenty-year old girl speaking of two husbands as incidents, though later Ruth remembered it herself, and thought it rather funny. He did not answer,—he was standing quite rigidly, staring at the door, and, turning, Ruth saw Gloria approaching them: “I’m sorry; I thought you were alone, Ruth,” she said and hesitated as if she would have gone back. “I’ve just remembered,” said Pendragon, “that the small star Eros is supposed to be visible again about this time, but we have no telescope. Ruth has not found it, though she has young eyes— Perhaps you and I, together, Gloria—if we looked very closely—”