ing. And do not you
see--at least, I mean, you do not see--how--unreasoning a request
it is?' The adjective gave her some trouble.

'Not unreasonable?'

'I said nothing about reasonable.'

'No. But I must have your promise. If you knew the world
better, it would not be necessary for me to make the request;
I know that; but the fact that you are--simple as a wild lily,--
does not make me willing to see the wild lily lose any of its
charm. Neither will I, Hazel, as long as I have the care of
it. So long as you are even in idea mine, no man shall--touch
you, again, as I saw it last night! You are precious to me
beyond such a possibility. Give me your promise.'

'You shall not talk to me so!' she cried, shrinking off in the
old fashion. 'I will not let you! You have done it before. And
I tell you that I never--touch anybody--except with the tip end
of my glove!'

'No more than the wild lily does. But, Hazel, no one shall
_touch the lily_, while I have care of it!' He spoke in the low
tone of determination. Hazel did not answer.

'Promise me!' he said again, when he found that she was
silent.

'By your own shewing it is hardly needed,' she said. 'I
suppose obedience will do as well.'

'Let it be a matter of grace, not of obligation.'

'There is some grace in obedience. Why do you want a promise?'

'To make the matter certain. Else you may be tempted, or
cajoled, into what--if you knew better--you would never do. You
will know better by and by. Meanwhile I stand in the way.
Come! give me the promise!'

There was a little bit of laugh at that, saying various
things.

'I shall not be cajoled,' she said. 'But I will not make
promises.'

'How then will you make me secure that what I do not wish
shall not be done?'

'It is not a matter about which I am anxious, sir,' said Miss
Wych coolly.

'I am not anxious,' he said very quietly, 'because one way or
another I will be secure. Do you think I can hold you in my
heart as I do, and suffer other men to approach you as I saw
it last night? Never again, Hazel!'

Dead silence on the lady's part; this 'mixed-up' style of
remark being, as she found, extremely hard to answer.

'What shall I do?' he said gently.

'About what, sir?'

'Making myself secure?'

'I do not know,' said Wych Hazel. 'No suggestion occurs to me
that would be worth your consideration.'

'I spoke to you once, some time ago, on the abstract grounds
of the question we have under discussio