He looked at her, as she thought, curiously. In his mind he was wondering
if she knew that he had made up his mind to marry her. She was suddenly
made aware of the masterfulness of his spirit, which might, she knew, be
applied to herself.

"Let us go into the grounds," he added, all at once. Soon after, in the
shade of the trees, she broke in upon the thread of their casual
conversation. "A few moments ago," she murmured, "you said: 'One life is
about enough for most of us.' Then you added a disparaging remark about
memory. Well, that doesn't seem like your usual point of view--more like
that of Mr. Pride; but not so plaintive, of course. Pray do smoke," she
added, as, throwing back his coat, he exposed some cigars in his
waistcoat pocket. "I am sure you always smoke after lunch."

He took out a cigar, cut off the end, and put it in his mouth. But he did
not light it. Then he glanced up at her with a grave quizzical look as
though wondering what would be the effect of his next words, and a smile
played at his lips.

"What I meant was this. I think we get enough out of our life to last us
for centuries. It's all worth doing from the start, no matter what it is:
working, fighting, marching and countermarching, plotting and
counterplotting, backing your friends and hating your foes, playing big
games and giving others a chance to, standing with your hand on the
lynch-pin, or pulling your head safe out of the hot-pot. But I don't
think it is worth doing twice. The interest wouldn't be fresh. For men
and women and life, with a little different dress, are the same as they
always were; and there's only the same number of passions working now, as
at the beginning. I want to live life up to the hilt; because it is all
new as I go on; but never twice."