"That's enough to-night—enough for all time, if you so wish," he said gently. "Only I had to tell you what was in my heart."
"How could you, Grantley?"
"I haven't said it was easy. I'm coming to believe that the easy things aren't worth much."
"You could love me again?"
"I've never ceased to love you—only I hope I know a bit more about how to do it now."
She stood there the picture of distress and of fear. At last she broke out:
"Ah, I've not told you the real thing! I'm afraid Grantley, I'm afraid! I dare not love you. Because I loved you so beyond all reason and all—all sanity, all this came upon us. And—and I daren't love you again now, even if I could. Yes, I ought to have learnt something too; perhaps I have. But I daren't trust myself with my knowledge." She came a step nearer to him, holding out her hands beseechingly. "Friends, friends, Grantley!" she implored. "Then we shall be safe. And our love shall be for Frank. You'll get to love Frank, won't you?"
"Frank and I are beginning to hit it off capitally," said Grantley cheerfully. "Well, I shall go in now: we mustn't leave Christine alone all the evening." He took her hand and kissed it. "So we're friends?" he asked.
"I'll try," she faltered. "Yes, surely we can manage that!"
He turned away and left her again gazing down on the village and Old Mill House. He lounged into the drawing-room where Christine sat, with an easy air and a smile on his face.