ntiments, and to the flattest:--for Mr. Blackburn's Tuckham's figure
was (she thought of it with no personal objection) not of the graceful
order, neither cavalierly nor kingly: and imagining himself to say, 'I am
engaged,' and he suddenly appearing on the field, Cecilia's whole mind
was shocked in so marked a way did he contrast with Beauchamp.

This was the effect of Beauchamp's latest words on her. He had disarmed
her anger.

'We must have a walk to-day,' he said commandingly, but it had stolen
into him that he and she were not walking on the same bank of the river,
though they were side by side: a chill water ran between them. As in
other days, there hung her hand: but not to be taken. Incredible as it
was, the icy sense of his having lost her benumbed him. Her beautiful
face and beautiful tall figure, so familiar to him that they were like a
possession, protested in his favour while they snatched her from him all
the distance of the words 'too late.'

'Will you not give me one half-hour?'

'I am engaged,' Cecilia plunged and extricated herself, 'I am engaged to
walk with Mr. Austin and papa.'

Beauchamp tossed his head. Something induced him to speak of Mr. Tuckham.
'The colonel has discovered his Tory young man! It's an object as
incomprehensible to me as a Tory working-man. I suppose I must take it
that they exist. As for Blackburn Tuckham, I have nothing against him.
He's an honourable fellow enough, and would govern Great Britain as men
of that rich middle-class rule their wives--with a strict regard for
ostensible humanity and what the law allows them. His manners have
improved. Your cousin Mary seems to like him: it struck me when I saw
them together. Cecilia! one half-hour! You refuse me: you have not heard
me. You will not say too late.'

'Nevil, I have said it finally. I have no longer the right to conceive it
unsaid.'

'So we speak! It's the language of indolence, temper, faint hearts. "Too
late" has no meaning. Turn back with me to the park. I offer you my whole
heart; I love you. There's no woman living who could be to me the wife
you would be. I'm like your male nightingale that you told me of: I must
have my mate to sing to--that is, work for and live for; and she must not
delay too long. Did I? Pardon me if you think I did. You have known I
love you. I have been distracted by things that kept me from thinking of
myself and my wishes: and love's a selfish business while . . . while one
has wor