"You know I am."

As she looked into his eyes--and she did look, as though there was fascination in his glance--she could scarcely doubt that at least he thought he was. She tried to smile; the effort was a failure.

"But it's--it's so absurd. You know nothing of me. We are strangers.

You only saw me the day before yesterday for the first time in your life."

"What does that matter? I know a man who met a girl upon the Friday and married her upon the Monday."

"Absurd!"

"Some men would be able to do this sort of thing in style; I can't. I know that this sort of thing comes to a man once in his life, and then in an instant. I know that I love you; I know that there will never be another woman to me like you. Some men do not take long to find out these things, you see!"

There was a pause. Then she at last looked down.

"I thought you mentioned something about pecuniary complications."

"This morning I had a hint from a friend; it has brought me in a fortune! There will be enough to settle up with, and something over to start again. And, Dora, I can work."

"Mr Coventry, do you clearly understand that I am a nameless n.o.body, who has to give music lessons for a living?"

"I understand that you are the woman whom I love!"

She turned her back to him. She moved across the room; she stood trifling with the fringe of the curtains.

"This is the maddest thing of which ever yet I heard."

He could hear that her voice was trembling.

"You know, Dora, I'm not asking you to say at once that you will be my wife. I daren't, and that's the fact; but I'm asking you one day to try to say you will. I want something to keep me going. I want something to save me from that woman Murphy."

"I believe 'that woman Murphy,' as you politely term the lady, is at the bottom of the compliment--I suppose I must call it so--which you have paid to me."

There was a curious intonation in the voice from the curtains.

"She has been making love to me. I couldn't stand that when I loved you, Dora!" The gentleman was creeping round the table. "Say that you will try!"

"Suppose I do?"

"Dora!"

She would not let him stay. They parted, this queer pair! He dined, not at his hotel, but at a restaurant on the Front; dined well! When he left it was with that good digestion which waits on appet.i.te. He walked as if he walked on air. He certainly had the gift of making history quickly.

When he reached the hotel, an acquaintance stopped him at the door.

"The great Sarah is here."

"The great who?"

"Sarah! Miss Freemantle! The five-times millionaire."

Mr Coventry looked a trifle bored.

"I'm not interested in the lady."

"The deuce you aren't! I am; and, by Jove, I wish she were in me!"

"I'm sorry for you. Come in and have a smoke."

As they crossed the hall, someone was coming down the stairs. The acquaintance drew Mr Coventry a little aside.

"Here she is!" Mr Coventry glanced up. "That's Miss Freemantle, the little woman in black. She's not a bad-looking little thing."

Mr Coventry looked at the lady referred to. It was Dora Hardy! As she descended the staircase, she leant on Mr Gainsford's arm. On the gentleman's other side was Mrs Murphy. As he saw her, she saw him. The young lady dropped the gentleman's arm. She ran down the stairs with her hand stretched out.

"Mr Coventry!"

"Dora!"

She laughed--and blushed. She turned to her companions.

"I don't think I need trouble you after all, Mr Coventry will see me home."

Before Mr Coventry had realised the situation he found himself in the open air with the lady. They turned, perhaps instinctively, towards Hove. It happened, that night, that that part of the Front was almost deserted. They walked some little distance before the gentleman recovered the use of his tongue.

"Dora--what--what c.o.c.k-and-bull story was that fool telling me?"

"I really cannot say."

"He--he said that you--you were the great Sarah."

"So I am. Don't I look it?"

The gentleman stopped dead. He groaned.

"What--what a fool I've been!"

"You flatter me."

They resumed their promenade. Her hand stole towards his.

"George, are you sorry you said you loved me?"

"Dora, is--is it a joke?"

"No, George, it's not a joke, it's a romance."

"What--what have I done?"