"You were just now saying some pretty things about there being only one thing you wanted, and that was the girl you loved, meaning me. I am in the same delightfully romantic situation; there's only one thing I want, and that's the man I love." A slight change took place in his face, as if a cloud had obscured the sun. He looked at her in silence; it would have been hard to say which was the prettier--she or the flowers. It was seen when he spoke that the change had extended to his voice. "So there is someone?" "Oh dear, yes; there always has been, and there always will be." "Your uncle gave me to understand that the field was clear." "My uncle Geoffrey Hovenden is--I'm sorry to have to say it of a relation of mine--a Machiavellian old gentleman. No one is better acquainted with my piteous plight than he is; but because he wants you, and wants me to want you, he says nothing about it. Do you mean to say you don't know who it is?" "Do you suppose that if I had even guessed that there was another I should have said what I have done?" "There's no telling; his own brother knew all about it, but that didn't stop him." "Who is the lucky man?" "Lucky! Pray do let us keep clear of the language of exaggeration, but I doubt if there is a more unlucky creature on the face of God's earth." "You pique my curiosity; standing with you as he does I can hardly conceive of him as unlucky. Do I know him?" "You did, if you don't now." "You speak in riddles, at which I was never any good." "Sydney Beaton." He seemed to start away from her. This time not only his face, but his whole bearing, the entire man, seemed to change. "Miss Forster, are you in earnest?" His tone, his manner seemed all at once to have grown cold; he could hardly have held his figure more stiffly erect. "And pray why shouldn't I be in earnest?" "You place me in a difficult position; what answer am I to give to that?" "I know very well what you mean. No one knows better than I do that Sydney is not all wisdom, but do you suppose a woman loves a man because he is wise? Go to!" "I presume that there are qualities that a woman requires in a man." "What are they?" "Surely she looks for at least some of the primitive virtues, say, common honesty, some sense of decency, and that kind of thing." "Well?" She paused as if for him to speak, but he was still. "Now how am I going to tie these flowers together? I ought to have brought a reel of cotton; as I haven't, you'll have to find me a nice long piece of grass. Yes, I think that will do. Now, I'll hold the flowers if you'll pass it round--so." While together they secured the primroses she went on. The exigencies of the situation required that they should be very close together; her nearness so affected him that he found it difficult to comment upon her words as frankly as he might otherwise have done, which was a fact of which she was possibly aware.