“What is it?” she whispered.  The words seemed wrung from her against her will.

For a moment he made no answer, and in the pulsing silence which followed her low-breathed question Nan was aware of a swiftly gathering fear.  She would have to make a decision within the next few moments—­and she was not ready for it.

“Do you know”—­Roger spoke very slowly—­“Do you know what it would have meant to me if you had been killed just now?”

Nan shook her head.

“It would have meant the end of everything.”

“Oh, I don’t see why!” she responded quickly.

“Don’t you?” He stooped over her and took her two slight wrists in his.  “Then I’ll tell you.  I love you and I want you for my wife.  I didn’t intend to speak so soon—­you know so little of me.  But this last hour! . . .  I can’t wait any longer.  I want you, Nan, I want you so unutterably that I won’t take no.”

She tried to rise from the sofa.  But in an instant his arms were round her, pressing her back, tenderly but determinedly, against the cushions.

“No, don’t get up!  See, I’ll kneel here beside you.  Tell me, Nan, when will you marry me?”

She was silent.  What answer could she give him—­she who had found one man’s love vain and betwixt whom and the man she really loved there was a stern barrier set?

At her silence a swift fear seized him.

“Nan,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.  “Nan, is it—­no good?” Then, as she still made no answer, he let his arms fall heavily to his side.

“God!” he muttered.  And his eyes held a blank, dazed look like those of a man who has just received a blow.

Nan caught him by the arm.

“No, no, Roger!” she cried quickly.  “Don’t look like that!  I didn’t mean—­”

The sudden expression of radiance that sprang into his face silenced the remainder of the words upon her lips—­the words of explanation that should have been spoken.

“Then you do care, after all!  Nan, there’s no one else, is there?”

“No,” she said very low.

He stretched out his arms and drew her gently within them, and for a moment she had neither the heart nor the courage to wipe that look of utter happiness from his face by telling him the truth, by saying blankly:  “I don’t love you.”

He turned her face up to his and, stooping, kissed her with sudden passion.

“My dear!” he said, “my dear!” Then, after a moment: 

“Oh, Nan, Nan, I can hardly believe that you really belong to me!”

Nan could hardly believe it either.  It seemed just to have happened somehow, and her conscience smote her.  For what had she to give in return for all the love he was offering her?  Merely a little liking of a lonely heart that wanted to warm itself at someone’s hearth, and beyond that a terrified longing to put something more betwixt herself and Peter Mallory, to double the strength of the barrier which kept them apart.  It wasn’t giving Trenby a fair deal!