Drene remained motionless.

"I haven't encouraged him," she said. "Perhaps that is why."

"Why he fancies you?"

"Why he asked me to marry him. It was the only thing he had not
asked."

"He asked that?"

"After he realized it was the only way, I suppose," she said coolly.
Drene took her into his arms and kissed her deliberately on the
mouth. Looking up at him she said: "After all, he is your friend,
isn't he?"

"A friend of many years. But, as you say, what is a woman between
friends?"

"I don't know," said the girl. And, still clasped in his arms, she
bent her head, thoughtfully, considering the question.

And as though she had come to some final conclusion, she raised her
head, lifted her eyes slowly, and her lips, to the man whose arms
enfolded her. It was her answer to his question, and her own.

When she had gone, he went back and stood again by the great window,
watching the cote on a neighboring roof, where the pigeons were
strutting and coquetting in the last rays of the western sun.