"Now let me look at you!" he said. "I haven't had an opportunity yet."
Stella put up her sunshade to shield her face, and laughingly he drew it away.
"That is not fair. I have been thirsting for a glance from those dark eyes all day. I cannot have them hidden now. And what are you thinking of?" he asked, smilingly, but with suppressed eagerness, "There is a serious little look in those eyes of yours—of mine! They are mine, are they not, Stella? What is it?"
"Shall I tell you?" she answered, in a low voice.
"Yes," he said. "You shall whisper it. Let me come nearer to you," and he sank down at her feet and put up his hand for hers. "Now then."
Stella hesitated a moment.
"I was thinking and wondering whether this—whether this isn't very wrong, Le—Leycester."
The name dropped almost inaudibly, but he heard it and put her hand to his lips.
"Wrong?" he said, as if he were weighing the question most judiciously. "Yes and no. Yes, if we do not love each other, we two. No, if we do. I can speak for myself, Stella. My conscience is at rest because I love you. And you?"
Her hand closed in his.