"No, fortunately, I don't think it is," Baron rejoined, walking with
her along the Parade. She had Sidney by the hand now, and the young
man was on the other side of her. They moved toward the station--she
had offered to go part of the way. "But with your miraculous gift
it's a wonder you haven't divined."

"I only divine what I want," said Mrs. Ryves.

"That's very convenient!" exclaimed Peter, to whom Sidney had
presently come round again. "Only, being thus in the dark, it's
difficult to see your motive for wishing the papers destroyed."

Mrs. Ryves meditated, looking fixedly at the ground. "I thought you
might do it to oblige me."

"Does it strike you that such an expectation, formed in such
conditions, is reasonable?"

Mrs. Ryves stopped short, and this time she turned on him the clouded
clearness of her eyes. "What do you mean to do with them?"

It was Peter Baron's turn to meditate, which he did, on the empty
asphalt of the Parade (the "season," at Dover, was not yet), where
their shadows were long in the afternoon light. He was under such a
charm as he had never known, and he wanted immensely to be able to
reply: "I'll do anything you like if you'll love me." These words,
however, would have represented a responsibility and have constituted
what was vulgarly termed an offer. An offer of what? he quickly
asked himself here, as he had already asked himself after making in
spirit other awkward dashes in the same direction--of what but his