Rachel regarded him wildly; the Sunday papers had driven her to
desperation, as, perhaps, it was intended that they should.

"Are you sure," she cried, "that they would not know me--up north?"

"Not from Eve," he answered airily. "I should see to that; and, besides,
we should first travel, say until the summer."

"If only I _could_ begin my life again!" said Rachel to herself, but
aloud, in a way that made no secret of her last, most desperate
inclination.

"That is exactly what I wish you to do," Steel rejoined quietly, even
gently, his hand lying lightly but kindly upon her quivering shoulder.
How strong his touch, how firm, how reassuring! It was her first contact
with his hand.

"I wish it so much," he went on, "that I would have your past life
utterly buried, even between ourselves; nay, if it were possible, even
in your own mind also! I, for my part, would undertake never to ask you
one solitary question about that life--on one small and only fair
condition. Supposing we make a compact now?"

"Anything to bury my own past," owned Rachel; "yes, I would do
anything--anything!"

"Then you must help me to bury mine, too," he said. "I was never
married, but a past I have."

"I would do my best," said Rachel, "if I married you."