both.” Prompt and steady came her reply, but he was disconcerted no longer.

“Will you tell me one thing?” he said.

Her eyes came to his. “Certainly if I can.”

“Only this.” He spoke quickly, with a certain mastery. “If by to-morrow I have not changed my mind, shall you accept my offer?”

She raised her brows slightly. “Why do you ask me that?”

“Because I want to know what to expect. I want to know if you make that condition for your sake or mine.” Unhesitatingly he went to the point. He was very nearly sure of her, but still not quite.

She paused for some seconds before she answered him. He wondered if she were seeking a means of escape. Then very calmly she gave him her reply, and he knew that the game was his.

“I have said it was for both, because if you repent of the bargain, so shall I. But—if you do not repent, then I shall accept your offer with gratitude. But you have acted upon impulse, and I think you ought to take time to consider.”

“It rests with me then?” said Rotherby.

“Yes, it rests with you.” Quietly, even coldly, she yielded the point. “Of course, as you say, if you decide to take me, it will only be on trial. And if I fail to satisfy you, we are not worse off than we are at present. But please do not decide before to-morrow!”

The words were a request. The tone was almost a command. He could ignore neither, and he swept her a deep bow.

“Madam, your wishes in this matter shall be respected. To-morrow then—we decide!”

“Thank you,” said Frances quietly.

She turned to go, but suddenly stopped short. He was aware of a change in her—a tremor of agitation.

“Ah!” she said, under her breath.

She was looking out of the shadow into the moonlight, and swiftly his eyes followed hers.

A figure in black was walking slowly and quite noiselessly over the grass by the side of the path.

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