you say about his
property is true."

"If you come to that, it would have been a very good match; and
perhaps you think I was silly to decline it?"

"I don't say that."

"Papa thought so;--but, then, I couldn't tell papa the whole truth,
as I can tell it to you now, Captain Aylmer. I couldn't tell dear
papa that my heart was not my own to give to my cousin Will; nor
could I give Will any such reason. Poor Will! I could only say to him
bluntly that I wouldn't have him."

"And you would, if it hadn't been,--hadn't been--for me."

"Nay, Fred; there you tax me too far. What might have come of my
heart if you hadn't fallen in my way, who can say? I love Will Belton
dearly, and hope that you may do so--"

"I must see him first."

"Of course;--but, as I was saying, I doubt whether, under any
circumstances, he would have been the man I should have chosen for a
husband. But as it was,--it was impossible. Now you know it all, and
I think that I have been very frank with you."

"Oh! very frank." He would not take her little jokes, nor understand
her little prettinesses. That he was a man not prone to joking she
knew well, but still it went against the grain with her to find that
he was so very hard in his replies to her attempts.

It was not easy for Clara to carry on the conversation after this,
so she proposed that they should go up-stairs into the drawing-room.
Such a change even as that would throw them into a different way of
talking, and prevent the necessity of any further immediate allusion
to Will Belton. For Clara was aware, though she hardly knew why, that
her frankness to her future husband had hardly been successful, and
she regretted that she had on this occasion mentioned her cousin's
name. They went up-stairs and again sat themselves in chairs over
the fire; but for a while conversation did not seem to come to them
freely. Clara felt that it was now Captain Aylmer's turn to begin,
and Captain Aylmer felt--that he wished he could read the newspaper.
He had nothing in particular that he desired to say to his lady-love.
That morning, as he was shaving himself, he had something to say that
was very particular,--as to which he was at that moment so nervous,
that he had cut himself slightly through the trembling of his hand.
But that had now been said, and he was nervous no longer. That had
now been said, and the thing settled so easily, that he wondered at
his own nervousness. He did not know that there was