As the Havre-Southampton boat steamed through the moonlit night, Dan and Gillian were pacing the deck together.
“I’m so glad Michael is going back to Magda without knowing—about June,” said Gillian, coming to a standstill beside the deck-rail. “Going back just because his love is too big for anything else to matter now.”
“Haven’t you told him?”—Storran’s voice held surprise.
“No. I decided not to. I should like Magda to tell him that herself.”
They were both silent for a little while. Gillian bent over the rail, looking down at the phosphorescent water breaking away from the steamer’s bow. Suddenly a big hand covered hers.
“I think I’m—lonely,” said Storran.
“Gillian,” he went on, his voice deepening. “Gillian . . . dear. We’re two rather lonely people. We shall be lonelier still when Michael and Magda are married. Couldn’t we be lonely—in company?”
Gillian’s hand moved a little beneath his, then stayed still.
“Why, Dan—Dan——” she stammered.
“Yes,” went on the strong, tender voice. “I’m asking you to marry me, Gillian, I’d never expect too much of you. We both know all that’s in the past of each of us. But we might help each other to be less lonely—good comrades together, Gillian.”