"Ask her yourself, my dear," she said, patting his hand. "She will be able to answer that question better than I. Besides, girls like to say 'yea' or 'nay,' themselves." This seemed to be good advice, and certainly none could have been more grateful to the timid lover. That very night he made up his mind to risk his fortunes by speaking to Diana. It was no easy matter for the young man to bring himself to do so, for cool, bold, and fluent as he was on ordinary occasions, the fever of love rendered him shy and nervous. The looks of Diana acted on his spirits as the weather does on a barometer. A smile made him jocund and hilarious, a frown abashed him almost to gloom. And in the April weather of her presence he was as variable as a weather-cock. It is, therefore, little to be wondered at that one ordinarily daring should tremble to ask a question which might be answered in the negative. True, Miss Barbar's partisanship heartened him a trifle, but he still feared for the result. Cupid, as well as conscience, makes cowards of us all--and Lucian was a doubting lover. Towards the end of his stay Miss Priscilla--as usual--fell asleep one evening after dinner, and Diana, feeling the house too warm, stepped out into the garden, followed by Lucian. The sun had just set behind the undulating hills, and the clear sky, to the zenith, was of a pale rose colour, striped towards the western horizon with lines of golden cloud. In the east a cold blue prevailed, and here and there a star sparkled in the arch of the sky. The garden was filled with floating shadows, which seemed to glide into it from the dark recesses of the near woods, and in a copse some distance away a nightingale was singing to his mate, and filling the silence with melody. The notes fluted sweetly through the still air, mingling with the sigh of the rising wind and the musical splashing of the fountain. This shot up a pillar of silvery water to a great height, and in descending sprinkled the near flower beds with its cold spray. All was inexpressibly beautiful to the eye and soothing to the ear--a scene and an hour for love. It might have been the garden of the Capulets, and those who moved in it--the immortal lovers, as yet uncursed by Fate. "Only three more days," sighed Lucian as he walked slowly down the path beside Diana, "and then that noisy London again." "Perhaps it is as well," said Diana, in her practical way. "You would rust here. But is there any need for you to go back so soon?" "I must--for my own peace of mind." Diana started and blushed at the meaning of his tone and words. Then she recovered her serenity and sat down on an old stone seat, near which stood a weather-beaten statue of Venus. Seeing that she kept silent in spite of his broad hint, Lucian--to bring matters to a crisis--resolved to approach the subject in a mythological way through the image of the goddess. "I am sorry I am not a Greek, Miss Vrain," he said abruptly.