The ripple of the river ran softly through the silence.

Slowly at last Merrivale turned to go.
And then sharply, uncertainly, she spoke.
"Wait, please!" she said.
She moved close to him and laid her hand on the flower-bedecked balustrade, trembling very much.
"Why have you done this ?" Her quivering voice sounded like a prayer.
He hesitated, then answered her quietly through the gloom.
"I did it because I loved you." "And what did you hope to gain by it ?" breathed Hilary.
He did not answer, and she drew a little nearer as though his silence reassured her.
"Wouldn't it have saved a lot of trouble," she said, her voice very low but no longer uncertain, "if you had given me my freedom in the first place?
Don't you think you ought to have done that ?" "I don't know," Merrivale said.

"That fellow spoilt my game.

So I offer it to you now--with apologies." "I should have appreciated it--in the first place," said Hilary, and suddenly there was a ripple of laughter in her voice like an echo of the water below them.

"But now I--I--have no use for it.