He lifted books, photographs, and what not, with trembling fingers, and
put them down again without knowing it. He was thinking, not looking.
And he was trying to force himself into a masterful mood. She was only a
child, he kept repeating to himself--only a child, who wanted guidance,
instruction, a protecting hand. It was not her fancies, however generous
and noble, that should shape the destinies of two lives. A beautiful
child, ignorant of the world and its evil: full of dreams of impossible
and unnecessary self-sacrifice, she was not one to ordain; surely her
way in life was to be led, and cherished, and loved, trusting to the
stronger hand for guidance and safety.

There was a slight rustle outside, and presently Natalie entered the
room. She was pale--perhaps she looked all the paler that she wore the
long, sweeping black dress she had worn at Lady Evelyn's. In silence she
gave him her hand; he took it in both his.

"Natalie!"

It was a cry of entreaty, almost of pain; for this fond vision of his of
her being only a child, to be mastered and guided, had fled the moment
he caught sight of this tall and beautiful woman, whose self-command,
despite that paleness and a certain apprehension in the dark eyes, was
far greater than his own.

"Natalie, you must give me a clearer answer."

He tried to read the answer in her eyes; but she lowered them as she
spoke.