The General was terribly embarrassed by this direct question. He was a most straightforward man, he loathed subterfuge. But what was he to do? The engagement of his daughter to Guy Rossett was a secret one. He was, in honour bound, to give neither of them away. He temporised weakly. "Have you spoken to Isobel about this?" "No," came the answer. "I thought it was right to approach you first." "Exactly, exactly," stammered the poor father. "Very right and proper, of course. But you had better put it to Isobel, and see what she says. Of course, you understand there is no opposition on my part." Farquhar looked at him keenly. Yes, Moreno's suspicions were justified. There was a secret engagement. The General had thrown the onus on his daughter. She could tell as much or as little as she pleased. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I will speak to Isobel to-morrow morning." The next day, in a little sheltered arbour in the not too extensive garden, he asked his cousin to marry him. He explained to her, as he had explained to her father, the reasons which had held him back. She listened to him with composure. She was dimly aware that, a few years ago, this declaration of love would have set her cheeks aflame, her heart beating. To-day, it left her regretful, but cold. "I am dreadfully sorry, Maurice. I am very, very fond of you, but not in that way. I look upon you as a brother, a very dear brother." There was decision and finality in the low, gentle tones. It was a bitter disappointment. He had always fancied in his masculine optimism that Isobel was waiting ready to fall into his arms, when he had made up his mind to ask her. It was a bitter disappointment, but he bore it with his usual stoicism. Ambition was the greater factor in his life; love would always play a subordinate part. Still, Isobel's refusal had taken something away that could never be replaced. There was a long pause. He was the first to break the silence. "Your affections are engaged. You are in love with somebody else?" A vivid flush overspread the fair face. "It is quite true, I love somebody else." "The man you were dining with, Guy Rossett?" replied Farquhar quietly. "Ah, you have guessed! But it is quite a secret. My father knows. His sister knows. His father is obstinate and prejudiced; he wants him to marry a woman in his own world. We are waiting for his consent." "I quite understand," said Farquhar gloomily. "I am too late, I can see. Honestly, Isobel, had I asked you, say, a year ago, would your answer have been different?" Her frank and candid gaze met his steadfast glance. "I fancy I should have said yes, Maurice. But I am not certain it would have been real love; you see, I have known so few men. Guy has revealed a new world to me." Farquhar sighed. He was eloquent enough in the courts, but he was dumb in the presence of women. This handsome young diplomatist had spoken to her in a language that she readily understood.