Italian garden. She sat very still, her round white chin cupped in her
palm. Her eyes were downcast, the lowered lids, with their lashes lying
like dusky fans against the ivory-tinted skin beneath, screening her
thoughts.

The man's footsteps made no sound as he crossed the close-cut turf, and
he paused a moment to gaze at her with ardent eyes. The loveliness of her
seemed to take him by the throat, so that a half-stifled sound escaped him.
Came an answering sound--a sharp-caught breath of fear as she realised an
intruder's presence in her solitude. Then, her eyes meeting the eager,
worshipping ones fixed on her, she uttered a cry of dismay.

"You?--You?" she stammered, rising hastily.

In a stride he was beside her.

"Yes. Didn't you expect me? You must have known I should come."

He laughed down at her triumphantly and made as though to take her in his
arms, but she shrank back, pressing him away from her with urgent hands.

"I told you not to come. I told you not to come," she reiterated. "Oh!"
turning aside with nervous desperation, "why didn't you stay away?"

He stared at her.

"Why didn't I? Do you suppose any man on earth would have stayed away after
receiving such a letter? Why did you write it?"--rapidly. "What did you
mean?"