sed, I
mean, that there had been something grave between you. I saw you were
sad. I would have given the world to comfort you.'

Her lip quivered childishly.

'I said I loved him that night. The next morning he wrote to me that it
could never be.'

He looked at her a moment embarrassed. The conversation was not easy.
Then the smile broke once more.

'And you have forgotten him as he deserved. If I were not sure of that I
could wish him all the tortures of the _Inferno_! As it is, I cannot
think of him; I cannot let you think of him. Sweet, do you know that
ever since I first saw you the one thought of my days, the dream of my
nights, the purpose of my whole life, has been to win you? There was
another in the field; I knew it. I stood by and waited. He failed you--I
knew he must in some form or other. Then I was hasty, and you resented
it. Little tyrant, you made yourself a Rose with many thorns! But, tell
me, tell me, it is all over--your pain, my waiting. Make yourself sweet
to me! unfold to me at last?'

An instant she wavered. His bliss was almost in his grasp. Then she
sprang up, and Flaxman found himself standing by her, rebuffed and
surprised.

'No, no!' she cried, holding out her hands to him though all the time.
'Oh, it is too soon! I should despise myself, I do despise myself. It
tortures me that I can change and forget so easily; it ought to torture
you. Oh, don't ask me yet to--to----'

'To be my wife,' he said calmly, his cheek a little flushed, his eye
meeting hers with a passion in it that strove so hard for self-control
it was almost sternness.

'Not yet!' she pleaded, and then, after a moment's hesitation, she broke
into the most appealing smiles, though the tears were in her eyes,
hurrying out the broken, beseeching words. 'I want a friend so much--a
real friend. Since Catherine left I have had no one. I have been running
riot. Take me in hand. Write to me, scold me, advise me, I will be your
pupil, I will tell you everything. You seem to me so fearfully wise, so
much older. Oh, don't be vexed. And--and--in six months----'

She turned away, rosy as her name. He held her still, so rigidly, that
her hands were almost hurt. The shadow of the hat fell over her eyes;
the delicate outlines of the neck and shoulders in the pretty pale dress
were defined against the green hill background. He studied her
deliberately, a hundred different expressions sweeping across his face.
A debate of the most feve