“Yes.”

“Did you mean it?

“Did I mean what?”

“When you said you’d marry me.”  His voice trembled a little.  “I’ve been thinking of nothing but you all day.  You’re not—­sorry?  You haven’t changed your mind?”

She shook her head.

“At dinner when you wouldn’t look at me, and this afternoon—­”

“No, I’m not sorry,” she said, cutting him short.  “I’m not sorry.”

He put his arm about her with an air that was almost apologetic.  And, seeing that she did not resist, he drew her to him and kissed her.  Suddenly, unaccountably to her, she clung to him.

“You love me!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” she whispered, “but I am tired.  I—­I am going upstairs, Howard.  I am tired.”

He kissed her again.

“I can’t believe it!” he said.  “I’ll make you a queen.  And we’ll be married in the autumn, Honora.”  He nodded boyishly towards the open windows of the library.  “Shall I tell them?” he asked.  “I feel like shouting it.  I can’t hold on much longer.  I wonder what the old lady will say!”

Honora disengaged herself from his arms and fled to the screen door.  As she opened it, she turned and smiled back at him.

“Mrs. Holt knows already,” she said.

And catching her skirt, she flew quickly up the stairs.