Marie felt in great delight with his acquiescence in her request. It showed his confidence in her. It showed her how he valued her word, her resolution, at their true worth. She would justify his confidence. She would show this lover how she respected his devotion and faith. What to her were all the sciences and all the _savants_ of the world compared to this one simple gentleman, who honoured her insignificant self with his love? Nothing; not a featherweight against all the world. What a privilege for any woman to share the confidence, the thoughts of such a man! Judged by the ordinary standard, he was far in advance of most men. His powerful, square, broad shoulders showed he could protect the woman of his choice against long odds. He could easily dispose of Nevill and Parkinson if occasion required him to do so. His face, full of manly beauty, must gather the glances of any room he entered. And then his eyes. What a charm was in his eyes! A resolute, quiet, manly dignity, nothing could hurt, nothing could degrade. And for her, and for her alone, what a spirit of heedful care! When he looked at her in that way she felt bold against all the world. Nothing could harm her while that guardian spirit watched over her. Nothing. 'Oh, my master, my lord, my king, rule me until I die. Lead, and I will follow! As you will it, under God, I will do!' * * * * * * * * * * Mrs Parkinson's house was a model of what a middle-class Englishwoman's house ought to be. In the first place, it was as clean as human hands could make it. All the furniture, carpets, fittings, curtains, were substantial, sufficient, homely in the best sense of that word. The stoutest man might sit on the lightest chair in her drawing-room without a qualm of dread. A baby might tumble on the carpet all day long without soiling its hands, or picking up a pin or any other product of nature or manufacture inimical to baby life.