“If she accepts me I shall take care to be in good time for the train, and all will be well,” he argued. “And she will accept me in all probability after a little persuasion. If not, there is nothing for it but Sir Matthew’s plan of scaring her with the fear of what people will say. No real harm will be done, none whatever. We shall merely play a little upon her credulity and ignorance and her proper pride, and all the rest of it. The game is worth the candle, for without her, sooner or later we shall be ruined.” He was more considerate and gentle in manner than ever when at length they set off together on their drive to Finshauts; her perfect confidence in him gave him an uncomfortable sensation, he kept on deferring the speech which must be made, and allowed her to enjoy to the full the beauty of the winding road with its shady groves of walnut and chestnut trees, and its wonderful glimpses of the Rhone Valley. They paused after a time to see the Falls of Emaney, and when they once more got into the carriage, Bruce Wylie made up his mind that before the next stage was reached his work must somehow be done. He looked down into her glowing happy face. “You are enjoying it?” he said kindly. “Oh more than I can tell you,” she said. “It is quite the best drive we have had. What a pity Janet isn’t here.” “For once you must let me be selfish,” said Bruce Wylie laughing. “I am heartily glad she is not here. ‘Two is company, three is trumpery,’ as the proverb says.” “I never agree with that proverb,” said Evereld. “We had a three-cornered friendship at school and it was delightful.” “For school friends it may be well enough. But I am something more than your friend, Evereld, I am your lover.” The assertion struck her dumb for a minute. “Surely you had realised that?” said Bruce Wylie. “You must, I think, have known it all these weeks that we have been together.” “Oh, no, no,” she cried in distress. “I never dreamt of such a thing. Please never say that again.” “But I must say it again. I want to make you understand me. For years I have hoped that you would some day be my wife. And when you understand me better I think you will say ‘yes,’ Evereld.” “No,” she said desperately, “I can never say it. I could never care for you in that way. Please let us just be friends as we used to be.” “But things are altered now, you are no longer a child, but a woman. Believe me, dear, I would make you very happy. You perhaps think that the difference in our age is a drawback. But some of the happiest marriages I have known have been marriages of that sort. One can’t make a hard and fast rule as to age.” “It is not that,” said Evereld. “That might not matter a bit. But I could never love you.” “I will take my chance of that. The love would grow.” “No, it never could.... Please believe me and say no more. I can’t think what makes you wish it when you must have met so many much more fit.”