For some months they met often at the Fabian meetings and elsewhere; till at last it became a habit with them to spend their Sunday mornings on some breezy wold in the country together.  Herminia was still as free as ever from any shrinking terror as to what “people might say;” as of old, she lived her life for herself and her conscience, not for the opinion of a blind and superstitious majority.  On one such August morning, they had taken the train from London to Haslemere, with Dolly of course by their side, and then had strolled up Hind Head by the beautiful footpath which mounts at first through a chestnut copse, and then between heather-clad hills to the summit.  At the loneliest turn of the track, where two purple glens divide, Harvey Kynaston seated himself on the soft bed of ling; Herminia sank by his side; and Dolly, after awhile, not understanding their conversation, wandered off by herself a little way afield in search of harebells and spotted orchises.  Dolly found her mother’s friends were apt to bore her; she preferred the society of the landlady’s daughters.

It was a delicious day.  Hard by, a slow-worm sunned himself on the basking sand.  Blue dragon-flies flashed on gauze wings in the hollows.  Harvey Kynaston looked on Herminia’s face and saw that she was fair.  With an effort he made up his mind to speak at last.  In plain and simple words he asked her reverently the same question that Alan had asked her so long ago on the Holmwood.

Herminia’s throat flushed a rosy red, and an unwonted sense of pleasure stole over that hard-worked frame as she listened to his words; for indeed she was fond of him.  But she answered him at once without a moment’s hesitation.  “Harvey, I’m glad you ask me, for I like and admire you.  But I feel sure beforehand my answer must be no.  For I think what you mean is to ask, will I marry you?”

The man gazed at her hard.  He spoke low and deferentially.  “Yes, Herminia,” he replied.  “I do mean, will you marry me?  I know, of course, how you feel about this matter; I know what you have sacrificed, how deeply you have suffered, for the sake of your principles.  And that’s just why I plead with you now to ignore them.  You have given proof long ago of your devotion to the right.  You may surely fall back this second time upon the easier way of ordinary humanity.  In theory, Herminia, I accept your point of view; I approve the equal liberty of men and women, politically, socially, personally, ethically.  But in practice, I don’t want to bring unnecessary trouble on the head of a woman I love; and to live together otherwise than as the law directs does bring unnecessary trouble, as you know too profoundly.  That is the only reason why I ask you to marry me.  And Herminia, Herminia,” he leant forward appealingly, “for the love’s sake I bear you, I hope you will consent to it.”

His voice was low and tender.  Herminia, sick at heart with that long fierce struggle against overwhelming odds, could almost have said yes to him.  Her own nature prompted her; she was very, very fond of him.  But she paused for a second.  Then she answered him gravely.