As for Selwyn, he remained where he had been standing on the lawn's velvet edge; and, raising her eyes again, her heart misgave her that she had wantonly strained a friendship which had been all but perfect; and now he was moving across the path toward her--a curious look in his face which she could not interpret. She looked up as he approached and stretched out her hand: "Forgive me, Captain Selwyn," she said. "I _am_ a child--a spoiled one; and I have proved it to you. Will you sit here beside me and tell me very gently what a fool I am to risk straining the friendship dearest to me in the whole world? And will you fix my penance?" "You have fixed it yourself," he said. "How?" "By the challenge of your womanhood." "I did not challenge--" "No; you defended. You are right. The girl I cared for--the girl who was there with me on Brier Water--so many, many centuries ago--the girl who, years ago, leaned there beside me on the sun-dial--has become a memory." "What do you mean?" she asked faintly. "Shall I tell you?" "Yes." "You will not be unhappy if I tell you?" "N-no." "Have you any idea what I am going to say, Eileen?" She looked up quickly, frightened at the tremor in his voice: "Don't--don't say it, Captain Selwyn!" "Will you listen--as a penance?" "I--no, I cannot--" He said quietly: "I was afraid you could not listen. You see, Eileen, that, after all, a man does know when he is done for--" "Captain Selwyn!" She turned and caught his hands in both of hers, her eyes bright with tears: "Is that the penalty for what I said? Did you think I invited this--" "Invited! No, child," he said gently. "I was fool enough to believe in myself; that is all. I have always been on the edge of loving you. Only in dreams did I ever dare set foot across that frontier. Now I have dared. I love you. That is all; and it must not distress you."