"I have had an adventurous life. The one thing I have not had to complain of is monotony," said Antony. "And I have had nothing else. Until recently I have gone on, year after year, existing, not living, in the same little rut." "No wonder you broke loose. A girl like you was never made for stagnation. You ought to travel: to see the world. I never met a woman with so keen an appreciation of beauty. Gad! how you would enjoy India, and the scenery we have over there. Last year we were stationed in the north, above Darjeeling. I'd like to blindfold you, and take you to a spot I know, and then take off the bandage, and show you--the snows! That would be a moment worth living for." "Ah, yes. Unfortunately, however, the climate of India is prejudicial to my health," Juliet reminded him primly. "Oh, hang the climate of India!" cried Antony Maplestone. The Squire also was inclined to "hang" the Indian climate in its bearing upon the health of his guest. He cross-questioned his prospective niece upon the subject with increasing irritability. "What's the matter with your health? You look strong enough. Can't have a liver with that complexion. Can't have a heart, rushing about all day long. Given it away, eh, what? Antony, what's wrong with her heart?" "Nothing, sir. It's a tip-top heart; in first-class working condition." "What's wrong, then--what's wrong? Nothing but nerves and nonsense. If I were a young man and my fiancee didn't care enough about me to face a bit of discomfort, I'd--I'd comfort myself with the first nice girl that _would_! If you let him go off to India alone, young lady, you'll have yourself to thank if you are left in the lurch." Juliet took out her handkerchief and pretended to cry. It was a comfort to be able to hide one's face, and besides, just between herself and the handkerchief there _was_ a tear. She _would_ be left in the lurch, and, oh, my goodness, how dull it would be! From the end of the room sounded three separate gasps of consternation. "Leave heroine, uncle! It's my affair. Clare, _don't_ cry!" "He doesn't mean it, dear; he doesn't mean it. Antony never would." "Kiss her, you stupid fellow, kiss her! What's the use of glowering there?" Then, in the midst of a thrilling silence, Juliet felt strong arms enfold her, felt the sweep of a moustache against her cheek. It was the first, the very first time in the course of her twenty-six years that any man but a blood relation had offered her a caress, and--she liked the sensation! She felt a horrible, horrible inclination to abandon herself to that strong support; to lift her own lips to meet his. The rebound from the temptation gave energy to the gesture with which she pushed him away and leaped, flaming, to her feet.