But when Lawrence Newt was talking to her--when he was looking at her--when he was moving about the room--she was happier than she had ever been--happier than she had supposed she could ever be.

When he went, that day was done.

Nor did another dawn until he came again.
Perhaps Hope Wayne understood the meaning of that mysterious constraint which now so often enveloped the Round Table.
As for Arthur Merlin, the poor fellow did what all poor fellows do.

So long as it was uncertain whether she loved him or not, he was willing to say nothing.

But when he was perfectly sure that there was no hope for him, he resolved to speak.
In vain his Aunt Winnifred had tried to cheer him.