Garth lent it, a linen one, not scented as Severance's handkerchief would have been, but fresh and clean-smelling. "We're still in that cad's room," Garth said, looking round with a frown. "But he won't bother us. And we'd better thrash things out, now we're about it. We must decide where you're to go. You know, Marise, I'm on long leave. I never quite made up my mind whether to go back to my regiment, or chuck the army for good, and stay over here. I thought some day I'd hear a clear call, one way or the other, while there was time to decide. And I knew Mothereen wouldn't long be far off from me, whatever I did. But now I leave it to you to settle the matter for me. I expect I owe you that, for all my sulkiness. If you want to live over on this side, I'll go back to England--my father's country. If you'd like to take up your career there again, rather than you should risk running up against me all the time, I'll resign my commission--as Severance and a lot of fellows like him hoped they could make me do!--settle down in Arizona and--forget the war." "Forget me, you mean!" said Marise. His tone changed, and he spoke in a lower voice. "I don't expect ever to forget you, Marise." "But you'd like to!" "I'm not so sure of that, in spite of all." "You will be, when you marry Zélie Marks." "Zélie Marks again!" "Or somebody else." "I shall never marry, Marise. That's as certain as that I'm alive. I haven't any love to give another woman after you. You had it every bit. But that's not an interesting subject to you, is it? Can you make up your mind to-night and answer my question? Shall it be England for you and America for me, or--_vice versa_?" "You _liked_ the army, didn't you? You didn't want to give it up." "I wasn't going to be driven out by Severance and Co. I shouldn't mind so much going of my own accord." "Wouldn't you like to stay in the Guards for some years anyhow, and reap the reward of what you've done?--coming over here to Vision House now and then on leave, till you're ready to rest and settle down for good?" "Sounds pretty ideal, as you put it. But I'll be content enough either way. It's for you to decide for me, as things stand. But oh, by the by, I forgot! I'm really rather a rich man, Marise. I've made my fortune three times over, and I've got umpteen thousands more than I need for myself or Mothereen. I want you to have alimony----" "Oh no!" she exclaimed. "I'm rich too--quite rich, enough." "But I _wish_ you to take something of mine, don't you understand? And money's the only thing I have that you could possibly care to have." Marise began to cry again, twice as hard as before. "There is--something else of yours I'd care to have," she choked, "if--if it isn't too late." "It's never too late." "But you don't know what I mean." "No. Not yet----" "I mean--your _love_. You said--I'd killed it."