‘And what was that?’ he asked tranquilly, though he knew that never in his life before had he been on such dangerous and difficult ground. The temptation of hearing her tell him that she liked him, and why she liked him, was irresistible. ‘First, the unconsciousness with which you wore your riches and your celebrity—for you are celebrated, you cannot deny it; and next, your trustworthiness.’ ‘Trustworthiness!’ he echoed, as she had done. ‘Yes; you are trustworthy. “My telling you about it will not cause you to lose it. I defy you to lose it. I should not wonder if some day it drove you to doing or saying something which more conventional people would call”—foolish.’ Sara smiled a little as she looked upon him from her deep eyes, and Falkenberg answered the smile with a thrill of exquisite pleasure. It was sweet indeed to know this. ‘Two can be steadfast,’ as he had more than once said to himself. These words of hers simply confirmed his love, strengthened his purpose. He would still wait. If he waited long enough, the day might come on which he might be able to serve her. ‘Why, you give me a _quid pro quo_,’ he said. ‘I did not know you could make jokes.’ ‘Do you call that a joke? Perhaps I am not so “simple” as you think me. Perhaps Luise Wilhelmi and I are in one another’s confidence.’ ‘Upon what?’ asked Falkenberg. He was leaning forward, his face resting upon his hand; his beautiful, steadfast brown eyes looking directly into hers. He paused in this attitude, waiting for her answer, and, during the pause, the door was opened, and Ellen said: ‘A gentleman, ma’am, to see you.’ She put a card into Sara’s hand, upon which card its owner instantly followed. So quickly, that, when she had perused the words: ‘THE REV. PABLO SOMERVILLE, S.J., _Brentwood College, Lancashire_,’ and raised her eyes, he stood before her, bowing, and regarding her piercingly, but not in the least obtrusively, from his deep-set, inscrutable eyes. Sara rose instantly, a deep flush mantling her face, which flush Somerville did not fail to note; while Falkenberg, whose composure when he felt himself _bien_, well-off, at his ease, it was almost impossible to disturb, merely raised his head, and transferred the gaze of his calm brown eyes from Sara’s face to that of Somerville.