There was silence for awhile, then she said slowly, "Are you content to remain here--Mr.Dene ?" It was the first time she had addressed him by his name, and she did so with an hesitation that Derrick attributed to her uncertainty of the pronunciation.
"Well, I am as content as I should be anywhere out of England," he said, with a candour compelled by her kindness.
She glanced at him with an earnest regard, and said softly, but suddenly, "It means that you have left your heart there ?" Derrick coloured and lit another cigarette.

Again, he felt as if he were obliged to open his heart to this sorrowful, sympathetic woman.
"That is so," he said, gravely.
"You have no father or mother," she murmured, her eyes downcast; "then it must be the girl you love--a sweetheart ?" Derrick nodded.
"Yes, it's a girl I love," he said, with a thrill as he made the confession, and was impressed by the spoken words with the depths of his love for that girl.

"Oh, don't misunderstand! It's true that I--love her; but she doesn't love me; it's all on my side, she doesn't even know that I care for her.

You'll be surprised to hear that I saw her only once in my life, and then only for a few minutes." "That is the Spanish way of loving, not the English," she said, with a long breath like a sigh, as she looked at him.

"No; I am not surprised.
Love is a strange thing, Derrick--pardon!--Mr.Dene; and it comes sometimes, more often than not with the people of my nation, at first sight.