that
almost seemed gaiety. "I don't think I am capricious, and I know I never
harbour a longstanding grievance. I really believe that it is to your
own heart you must look for the reasons of what has occurred between
us. I have often heard that men are so ashamed of being jealous, that
they'll never forgive anyone who sees them in the fit."

"Enough, more than enough," said he, trembling from head to foot. "Let
us part."

"Remember, the proposal comes from you."

"Yes, yes, it comes from me. It matters little whence it comes."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, it matters a great deal, at least to me. I
am not to bear the reproaches of my aunt and my sister for a supposed
cruelty towards a man who has himself repudiated our engagement. It
would be rather hard that I was to be deserted and condemned too."

"Deserted, Florry!" cried he, as the tears stood in his eyes.

"Well, I don't mean deserted. There is no desertion on either side. It
is a perfectly amicable arrangement of two people who are not disposed
to travel the same road. I don't want to imply that any more blame
attaches to _you_ than to _me_."

"How can any attach to me at all?" cried he.

"Oh, then, if you wish it, I take the whole of it."

"Shall I speak to your aunt, Miss Walter, or will you?"

"It does not signify much which of us is the first to acquaint her.
Perhaps, however, it would come with more propriety from you. I think
I see her yonder near the cypress-trees, and I'm sure you'll be glad to
have it over. Wait one moment, this ring--" as she endeavoured to draw
a small ruby ring from her finger, Loyd saw the turquoise which she wore
on the other hand--"this ring," said she, in some confusion, "is yours."

"Not this one," said he, sternly, as he pointed to the other.

"No, the ruby," said she, with an easy smile. "It was getting to hurt my
finger."

"I hope you may wear the other more easily," said he with a bitter
laugh.

"Thank you," said she, with a curtesy, and then turned away, and walked
towards the house.

After Loyd had proceeded a few steps to overtake Miss Grainger, he
stopped and hastened back to the villa. Such an explanation as he must
make could, he felt, be only done by a letter. He could not, besides,
face the questioning and cross-questioning the old lady would submit him
to, nor endure the misery of recalling, at her bidding, each stage of
their sad quarrel. A letter, therefore, he would write, and then leave
the villa fo