The rain came on, and poured, and beat against the window-panes with a sudden angry thud. No chance of further walks abroad. I escaped upstairs while the butler was speaking to Mr. Carruthers, and began helping Véronique to pack. Chaos and desolation it all seemed in my cosy rooms. While I was on my knees in front of a great wooden box, hopelessly trying to stow away books, a crisp tap came to the door, and without more ado my host--yes, he is that now--entered the room. “Good Lord! what is all this,” he exclaimed, “what are you doing?” “Packing,” I said, not getting up. He made an impatient gesture. “Nonsense!” he said, “there is no need to pack. I tell you I will not let you go. I am going to marry you and keep you here always.” I sat down on the floor and began to laugh. “You think so, do you?” “Yes.” “You can’t force me to marry you, you know--can you? I want to see the world, I don’t want any tiresome man bothering after me. If I ever do marry it will be because--oh, because----” and I stopped, and began fiddling with the cover of a book. “What?” “Mrs. Carruthers said it was so foolish--but I believe I should prefer to marry some one I liked. Oh! I know you think that silly,” and I stopped him as he was about to speak, “but of course, as it does not last any way, it might be good for a little to begin like that, don’t you think so?” He looked round the room, and on through the wide open double doors into my dainty bedroom where Véronique was still packing. “You are very cosy here, it is absurd of you to leave it,” he said. I got up off the floor and went to the window and back. I don’t know why I felt moved, a sudden sense of the cosiness came over me. The world looked wet and bleak outside. “Why do you say you want me to marry you, Mr. Carruthers?” I said. “You are joking, of course.” “I am not joking. I am perfectly serious. I am ready to carry out my aunt’s wishes. It can be no new idea to you, and you must have worldly sense enough to realize it would be the best possible solution of your future. I can show you the world, you know.” He appeared to be extraordinarily good-looking as he stood there, his face to the dying light. Supposing I took him at his word, after all. “But what has suddenly changed your ideas since yesterday? You told me you had come down to make it clear to me that you could not possibly obey her orders.” “That was yesterday,” he said. “I had not really seen you; to-day I think differently.” “It is just because you are sorry for me; I suppose I seem so lonely,” I whispered demurely. “It is perfectly impossible--what you propose to do--to go and live by yourself at a London hotel--the idea drives me mad!” “It will be delightful! no one to order me about from morning to night!” “Listen,” he said, and he flung himself into an armchair. “You can marry me, and I will take you to Paris, or where you want, and I won’t order you about,--only I shall keep the other beasts of men from looking at you.”