'You're the first man he's said that about, Paul. I think it's rather a good omen.
'Oh, Margot, let's get married at once.
'My dear, I haven't said that I'm going to yet. I'll tell you in the morning.
'No, tell me now, Margot. You do like me a little, don't you? Please marry me just terribly soon.
'I'll tell you in the morning. There're several things I must think about first. Let's go back to the library.
* * *
That night Paul found it unusually diflicult to sleep. Long after he had shut his book and turned out the light he lay awake, his eyes open, his thoughts racing uncontrollably. As in the first night of his visit, he felt the sleepless, involved genius of the house heavy about his head. He and Margot and Peter and Sir Humphrey Maltravers were just insignificant incidents in the life of the house: this new‑born monster to whose birth ageless and forgotten cultures had been in travail. For half an hour he lay looking into the darkness until gradually his thoughts began to separate themselves from himself, and he knew he was falling asleep. Suddenly he was roused to consciousness by the sound of his door opening gently. He could see nothing, but he heard the rustle of silk as someone came into the room. Then the door shut again.
'Paul, are you asleep?
'Margot!
'Hush, dear! Don't turn on the light. Where are you? The silk rustled again as though falling to the ground. 'It's best to make sure, isn't it, darling, before we decide anything? It may be just an idea of yours that you're in love with me. And, you see, Paul, I like you so very much, it would be a pity to make a mistake, wouldn't it?