When luncheon was over, Mr. Hamilton begged me to take Gladys to the turret-room and persuade her to lie down.

‘I am going to send Cunliffe away until dinner-time,’ he said, with a sort of good-natured peremptoriness:  ’under the circumstances he is decidedly de trop.  Yes, my dear, yes,’ as Gladys looked pleadingly at him, ‘Eric shall come and talk to you.  I am not so unreasonable as that.’  And I think we all understood the feeling that made Gladys put her arms round her brother’s neck, though we none of us heard her whisper a word.  Max consented very cheerfully to efface himself for the remainder of the afternoon, and Gladys accompanied me upstairs.  I waited until Eric joined us, and then I left them together.

‘Oh, Gladys, he was so good, and I did not deserve it!’ he burst out before I had closed the door.  ‘I never knew Giles could be like that.’  But I took care not to hear any more.  I hardly knew what to do with myself that afternoon, but I made up my mind at last that I would finish a letter I had begun to Jill.  The inkstand was in the turret-room, but I thought I would fetch one out of the drawing-room; but when I reached the head of the staircase I drew back involuntarily, for Mr. Hamilton was standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall with folded arms, as though he were waiting for somebody or something.  An unaccountable timidity made me hesitate; in another second I should have gone back into my room, but he looked up, and, as before, our eyes met.

‘Come,’ he said, holding out his hand, and there was a sort of impatience in his manner.  ‘How long are you going to keep me waiting, Ursula?’ And I went down demurely and silently, but I took no notice of his outstretched hands.

I was trying to pass him in a quiet, ordinary fashion, as though there were no unusual meaning in his deep-set eyes; but he stopped me somewhat coolly by taking me in his arms.

‘At last, Ursula, at last!’ was all he said, and then he kissed me....

* * * * *

I remember I told Giles, when I had recovered myself a little, that he had taken things too much for granted.

He had brought me into the drawing-room, and was sitting beside me on the little couch.  To my dazzled eyes the room seemed full of sunshine and the sweet perfume of flowers:  to this day the scent of heliotrope brings back the memory of that afternoon when Giles first told me that he loved me.  He seemed rather perplexed at first by my stammering little speech, and then I suppose my meaning dawned on him, for his arm pressed me more closely.

’I think I understand:  you mean, do you not, Ursula, that I have not asked you in plain English to be my wife?  I thought we understood each other too well for any such word to be necessary.  Ever since you told me that fellow Tudor was nothing to you, I felt you belonged to me.’

‘I do not see that,’ I returned shyly, for Giles in his new character was rather formidable.  He had taken such complete possession of me, and, as I had hinted, had taken everything for granted.  ’Because Mr. Tudor was simply a friend, it did not follow that I cared for any one else.’