I shall never give you up until—until you give yourself to the world, or”—his voice dropped very low—“to another.” The clergyman waited breathlessly for the answer. The man’s words vibrated with such suppressed fire that only a serious reply could be forthcoming. But for a space Carmen merely toyed with her fan, the little red spangled fan that swung from a single finger. Behind the black domino her eyes sparkled, but the expression of her face was hidden.

“The difference in age is nothing,” he continued almost sternly. “For me, you are the woman, and for you I will prove that I am the man. I see clean through to the great soul hidden in you. I can bring it out. I can make you real—a soul of value in the big order of God’s purposes. What can these boys ever be, or do, for you? I’ve got a big, useful, practical scheme that can use you, just as it can use me. And my great unselfish love has picked you out of the whole world as the one woman necessary. Will you come to me?”

Still the girl was silent. She tapped him on the knee two or three times, would-be playfully, with the tip of her fan. Her head was bent down a little.

“And I’m strong,” he went on earnestly; “I’m a man. The power in me recognizes and calls to the power in you. Let me hold you and mould you, and let’s take the fine, high life together.

Drop this life of child’s play you’ve been leading. Come to me; my arms are hungry for you! But I want you for a higher purpose than my own happiness—though I swear I can make you happy as no woman in this world has ever before been happy. And without you,” he added more softly after a slight pause, “this splendid scheme of mine, of ours, can come to nothing. For I cannot do it alone—and there is only one You in the world. Answer me now. It was to-night, remember, you promised. I leave tomorrow, and London days lie far ahead. Give me your answer to go back with.”

It was a curious way to make love. The reverend gentleman thought he had never heard anything quite like it. An ordinarily frivolous girl, of course, would have been impatient long ago. But the fine passion of the man broke everywhere through his rather lame words, and set something in the air about them aflame. The violins sounded thin and trashy compared to the rhythm of this earnest voice; all the glitter of the ball-room seemed cheap—the costume of Carmen absurdly incongruous. Mr. Ambleside slipped back somehow into the key of the afternoon when Cosmic Powers had held direct communion with his soul. He understood that he was meant to listen. Something big was in progress, something important in a high sense.