ell became him.

He motioned young pupil to sit down, and then said to her,

"Miss Rothesay, I wish to talk to you as to a sensible and noble woman
(there are such I know, and such I believe you to be). I also speak as
to one like myself--a true follower of our divine Art, who to that one
great aim would bend all life's purposes, as I have done."

He paused a moment, and seeing that no answer came, continued,

"All these years you have been my pupil, and have become necessary to me
and to my Art. To part with you is impossible; it would disorganise all
my plans and hopes. There is but one way to prevent this. You are a
woman; I cannot take you for my son, but I can take you for--my wife."

Utterly astounded, Olive heard. "Your wife--I--your wife!" was all she
murmured.

"Yes. I ask you--not for my own sake, but for that of our noble Art. I
am a man long past my youth--perhaps even a stern, rude man. I cannot
give you love, but I can give you glory. Living, I can make of you such
an artist as no woman ever was before; dying, I can bequeath to you the
immortality of my fame. Answer me--is this nothing?"

"I cannot answer--I am bewildered."

"Then listen. You are not one of those foolish girls who would make
sport of my grey hairs. I will be very tender over you, for you have
been good to me. I will learn how to treat you with the mildness that
women need. You shall be like a child to my old age. You will marry me,
then, Olive Rothesay?"

He walked up to her, and took her hand, gravely, though not without
gentleness; but she shrank away.

"I cannot, I cannot; it is impossible."

He looked at her one moment, neither in angry reproach, nor in wounded
tenderness, but with a stern, cold pride. "I have been mistaken--pardon
me." Then he quitted her, walked back to his position near the hearth,
and resumed his former attitude.

There was silence. Afterwards Michael Vanbrugh felt his sleeve touched,
and saw beside him the small, delicate figure of his pupil.

"Mr. Vanbrugh, my dear master and friend, look at me, and listen to what
I have to say."

He moved his head assentingly, without turning round.

"I have lived," Olive continued, "for six-and-twenty years, and no one
has ever spoken to me of marriage. I did not dream that any one ever
would. But, since you have thus spoken, I can only answer as I have
answered."

"And you are in the same mind still?"

"I am. Not because of your age, or of my youth; but be