did not love each other, she pretended to hear no more.

"Have you been stopping out all night again and staring at the sea,
Morris?" she inquired; "because I understand it is a habit of yours. You
seem so sleepy. I know that I must have looked just like you when that
old political gentleman took me in to dinner, and I made an exhibition
of myself."

"What was that?" asked Morris.

So she told him the story of her unlawful slumbers, and so amusingly
that he burst out laughing and remained in an excellent mood for the
rest of the feast, or at any rate until the ladies had departed. After
this event once more he became somewhat silent and distant.

It was not wonderful. To most men, except the very experienced,
proposals are terrifying ordeals, and Morris had made up his mind, if he
could find a chance, to propose to Mary that night. The thing was to be
done, so the sooner he did it the better.

Then it would be over, one way or the other. Besides, and this was
strange and opportune enough, never had he felt so deeply and truly
attracted to Mary. Whether it was because her soft, indolent beauty
showed at its best this evening in that gown and setting, or because
her conversation, with its sub-acid tinge of kindly humour amused him,
or--and this seemed more probable--because her whole attitude towards
himself was so gentle and so full of sweet benevolence, he could not
say. At any rate, this remained true, she attracted him more than any
woman he had ever met, and sincerely he hoped and prayed that when he
asked her to be his wife she might find it in her heart to say Yes.