mes more encouraging than a
smile. He knew he had hit upon the right thing when he had spoken of
her poems; it was wonderful how discerning love had made him.

"You are mistaken, Mr. Brandon," said she with difficulty, scarcely
daring to raise her eyes to the level of his waistcoat; "I am no
genius, and my poems are not worth printing--poor, crude, empty
productions. I believe I can make caps and bonnets, but that is all
that I can do."

"That is only your opinion of yourself. But with my will, you shall
make no more frippery of the kind. It is quite beneath you."

"It is not beneath me to earn an honest livelihood."

"No; but it was cruel to make you have to do it. I have been so sorry
for you all these months, when Miss Melville told me how you were
employed."

"Do not say anything more about your pity for me; it pains me."

"It is not pity; it is love," said he, stoutly.

"Love born of pity; that will die when--I mean if--but it cannot be; I
never can be your wife--the most unsuitable, the most wrong thing that
I could do. Do not speak any more about it."

Elsie's real distress convinced Mr. Brandon of her sincerity, but it
set him on a wrong scent. There must be a rival; no doubt she must love
some one else, or she would have given him a hearing. It was not
possible that a girl would prefer poverty, solitude, and a position
like that which she held at Mrs. Dunn's, to marriage with a
good-looking, good-tempered fellow like himself, who would deny her
nothing, and who intended to be the kindest husband in the world--if
her heart was disengaged. Now poor Elsie was as heart-whole as a girl
could be, but her manner of refusing made him think of a number of
little signs which looked as if she were the victim of a hopeless
attachment. Her sadness, her poetry, her little sighs, her diffidence,
her pining away, were all due to the shameful conduct of one who in
happier days had sought her hand, and had deserted her when fortune
changed. His pity for her increased, but his love did not. If she had
the bad taste to prefer a sad memory to a living lover, she might do
so. He did not care to inquire as to the particulars of her unhappy
love, even if he had thought it honourable to do so. The truth is, that
Mr. Brandon did not love Elsie very much, though he thought he did so
when he asked her. If she had said yes--if she had looked at him with
grateful eyes, and told him that she would try to do her best to make
him hap