“My darling, my more than treasure. I can’t doubt you, and yet I am riven with doubt. Forgive me, but how can you forgive me if I am wrong? Tell me again, tell me once and for always that nothing has been going on of which I have been kept in ignorance, that you would not, could not have broken your word to me. You look ill, scared.... I know now that from the moment I came you have not been yourself, your beautiful candid self. Margaret, crown of my life, sweetheart; darling, speak, tell me. Is there anything I ought to know?” He spoke with ineffable tenderness. He was bending over her, holding her, her heart beat against his heart; she would have answered had she been able. But when her words came they were no answer to his. “Darling, how strange you are! There is certainly nothing you ought to know. Let me go and get my things off. How strange that you should doubt me, that you should rather believe that dreadful woman. I have never seen her since you were down here last, nor heard from her....” Her cheeks flamed and were hidden against his coat, she hated her own disingenuousness. It had been difficult to tell him, now it was impossible. “Let me go.” He released her and she went over to the looking-glass, adjusted her veil. She had burnt her boats, now there was nothing for it but denial and more denial. Thoughts went in and out of her aching head like forked lightning. _He would never know. Peter would arrange, Peter would manage._ It was a dreadful thing she had done, dreadful. But she had been driven to it. If the time would come over again ... but time never does come over again. She must play her part and play it boldly. She was trembling inside, but outwardly he saw her preening herself before the glass as she talked to him. “I think we have had enough of Mrs. Roope. You haven’t half admired my frock. I have a great mind not to wear my new teagown tonight. I should resent it being ignored. We ought to go out again until dinner, the afternoon is lovely. I can’t sit on the beach in this, but I need only slip on an old skirt. Shall I put on another skirt? Do you feel in the humour for the beach? I’ve a thousand questions to ask you. I seem to have been down here by myself for an age. I have actually started a book! What do you say to that? I want to tell you about it. What has been decided about the door-plates? What did the parents say when they heard I’d fled?” “I didn’t see them until the next day.” “Had they recovered?” “They were resigned. I promised to bring you back with me on Monday.” “And now you don’t want to?” “How can you say that?” “Did I say it? My mood is frivolous, you mustn’t take me too seriously. The beach ... you haven’t answered about the beach. Perhaps you’d rather walk. I don’t mind adventuring this skirt if we walk.” “You are not too tired?” “How conventional!”