She left me alone in the room, and I stood there for a minute or two without moving. I heard his quick step on the gravel path outside and then his summons at the door. Mechanically I rang the bell and directed that he should be shown in to me. The door was opened and closed. Then he was ushered in, our little maid servant announcing him with a certain amount of unnecessary emphasis. She withdrew at once, and we were alone together. As he touched my hand I noticed that he was wearing a new suit of riding clothes, which became him very well, and a big bunch of violets in his buttonhole. “So I have found you at last, have I?” he said, standing over me as though he feared I might even now try to escape. “Was it by your maid’s mistake that I was allowed to come in this afternoon?” “No,” I answered; “I told her only a minute ago to show you in. I wanted to see you.” “You are extremely kind,” he remarked, with a note of irony in his tone. “My patience was very nearly exhausted. I was beginning to wonder whether I should ever see you again.” “It was becoming just a question whether you would,” I remarked. “We are closing the house up next week, I believe, and removing our ‘Penates’ to Eastminster. Alice is busy packing already, and so ought I to be.” “If that is a hint to me,” he remarked, “I decline to take any notice of it. I have something to say to you. I have had to wait long enough for the opportunity.” “A little more than a week,” I murmured. “Never mind how long,” he declared. “It has seemed like a year. Tell me--are you glad that you are going away?” “I am very glad,” I admitted. “I am glad that we are all going away. In any case I should not have stayed. Perhaps you have heard that I am going to London with Mrs. Fortress?” Evidently he had not heard. He looked at me in amazement. “With Mrs. Fortress?” he repeated. “Did you say you were going with her?” “Yes; I am going to be her secretary. I thought that she might have told you.” He was looking rather grave; certainly not pleased. “I do not see what you want to be any one’s secretary for,” he said, frowning. “You are going to leave here. Eastminster is a very pleasant place.” “I am afraid I should find it very dull,” I answered. “I only admire cathedral cities from an external point of view. It would bore me horribly to have to live in one.” He stood there looking down at me in absolute silence. I raised my eyes and met his steadfast gaze. I knew then that what this girl had said was true. Then all of a sudden an unaccountable thing happened. The composure on which I prided myself deserted me. My eyes fell. I could not look at him, my cheeks were flushed; my heart commenced to beat fast; I was taken completely at a disadvantage. He seized the opportunity and commenced to speak. “Perhaps,” he said, slowly, “you have wondered what has made me so anxious to see you these last few days. I am glad to have an opportunity of telling you. I have been wanting to for some time.”