you'd soon find it out. Of course, if
you love me, it is all very well for you to tell me so, but I can't
understand why you should.'

"'Is that all you have to say to me, Miss Bronson?' he asked earnestly.

"'Why, what can I say? You don't know me, and I don't know you; and you
think you love me, and I don't love you at all. I'm fond of you in a
certain way, to be sure, but love is quite a different thing. I never
shall love anybody very much except papa: I never intend to. I'm very
kind to you, Mr. Sterling, to talk to you as I do. In a few weeks, when
you've all but forgotten my existence, you'll think of me just enough to
be grateful to me for talking to you as I have. Love isn't a mushroom to
spring up in a night: it is an oak to grow and grow, and only come to
perfection after years and years. You don't love me at all, Mr.
Sterling: you only think you do.'

"All this time he stood silent, looking more awkward than I ever saw him
before or have seen him since. Then he put out his hand and said, 'I'll
bid you good-bye, Miss Bronson: I'm going early in the morning. I shall
not see you then, so I'll say good-bye now. I am going abroad in a few
days.'

"'Abroad! where?' I hadn't heard of it, and I felt a strange sort of
pang--of surprise, I thought.

"'To Leipsic, to finish my studies. I shall be gone a considerable
time--two years at least. When I return I shall come to you and repeat
what I've said to-night.'

"'Oh no, you won't: you'll forget all about it. I'd much rather you
would. Please don't feel bound to come back: I release you from your
oath, and I shall not expect you.'

"I don't know what more we might have said, but there was a flutter
among the vines by the door, and we thought some one was near us. We
were just returning into the adjoining dining-room when a little brown
bird flew out into the light, and, hopping about among the flowers,
began chirping in a sad sort of way that caught our attention at once.

"'It is only the little widow,' I said.

"'Lost her mate, eh?' Arthur said carelessly. He wasn't Arthur then, you
know, but Mr. Sterling.

"'Yes: he's deserted her. She built here in the vines last spring when
the conservatory was all thrown open. They were such a pair of lovers,
she and her mate! She raised two broods of little ones, and it was quite
a domestic revelation for me to see them, they seemed so fond of each
other, and so happy, and so loving. But a month ago, when the plants