“Dear Lois,” he said, “you are impressionable, and you have let yourself become the victim of some very foolish fancies. You are a free agent. I tell you this now, and I tell you the truth. You are a free agent, free to give your love where you will, free to give yourself to whom you choose. And I come to you first on your birthday, Lois. You know that I love you. Give yourself to me, little girl, and never anything harmful shall come near you. I swear it, on my honor, Lois.”
She drew a little sigh of content, and her arm stole shyly up to his shoulder. In a moment she was in his arms.
“Don’t be angry with me, Maurice,” she sobbed, “if I am a little strange just at first. I am afraid—I can’t tell you what of—but I am afraid.”
He talked to her reassuringly, holding her hands—most of the time, in fact, for the country was a sparsely populated one, with his arm around her waist. And then suddenly she seemed to lose her new-found content. Her cheeks were suddenly white. She looked everywhere restlessly about.
“What is the matter, dear?” he asked anxiously.
“I thought that I heard something!” she exclaimed. “What is the time?”
“Four o’clock,” he answered, looking at his watch.
“Please tell the man to go back, straight back home,” she said. “I am tired. I must get back. Please, Maurice!”
He gave the chauffeur instructions through the speaking-tube. The car swung round, and they sped on their way through the quiet lanes.
“Dear Lois,” he said, “something has come over you. Your hands are cold, and you have drawn yourself away. Now please be honest and tell me all about it. If you have fears, all I can say is that you may dismiss them. You are safe now that you have given yourself to me, as safe as anyone in the world could be.”