Skirting the villa, he went on unhesitatingly, as one to whom the way was very familiar, following a straight, formal path which led between parterres of flowers, ablaze with colour. Then, through an archway dripping jessamine, he emerged into a small, enclosed garden--an inner sanctuary of flower-encircled greensward, fragrant with the scent of mignonette and roses, while the headier perfume of heliotrope and oleander hung like incense on the sun-warmed air. A fountain plashed in the centre of the velvet lawn, an iridescent mist of spray upflung from its marble basin, and at the farther end a stone bench stood sheltered beneath the leafy shade of a tree. A woman was sitting on the bench. She was quite young--not more than twenty at the outside--and there was something in the dark, slender beauty of her which seemed to harmonise with the southern scents and colour of the old Italian garden. She sat very still, her round white chin cupped in her palm. Her eyes were downcast, the lowered lids, with their lashes lying like dusky fans against the ivory-tinted skin beneath, screening her thoughts. The man's footsteps made no sound as he crossed the close-cut turf, and he paused a moment to gaze at her with ardent eyes. The loveliness of her seemed to take him by the throat, so that a half-stifled sound escaped him. Came an answering sound--a sharp-caught breath of fear as she realised an intruder's presence in her solitude. Then, her eyes meeting the eager, worshipping ones fixed on her, she uttered a cry of dismay. "You?--You?" she stammered, rising hastily. In a stride he was beside her. "Yes. Didn't you expect me? You must have known I should come." He laughed down at her triumphantly and made as though to take her in his arms, but she shrank back, pressing him away from her with urgent hands. "I told you not to come. I told you not to come," she reiterated. "Oh!" turning aside with nervous desperation, "why didn't you stay away?" He stared at her. "Why didn't I? Do you suppose any man on earth would have stayed away after receiving such a letter? Why did you write it?"--rapidly. "What did you mean?" She looked away from him towards the distant mountains rimming the horizon. "I meant just what I said. I can't marry you," she answered mechanically. "But that's absurd! You've known I cared--you've cared, too--all these weeks. And last night you promised--you said--" "Last night!" She swung round and faced him. "I tell you we've got to _forget_ last night--count it out. It--it was just an interlude--"