strange; you cannot really mean
it. It is utterly impossible that you can love me. I am old, compared
with you; I have no beauty, nay, even more than that"---- here she
paused, and her colour sensitively rose.

"I know what you would say," quickly added the young man. "But I think
nothing of it--nothing! To me you are, as I said, like an angel. I have
come here to-day to tell you so; to ask you to share my riches, and
teach me to deserve them. Dearest Miss Rothesay, be not only my friend,
but--my wife?"

There was no doubting him now. The strong passion within gave him
dignity and manhood. Olive scarcely recognised in the earnest wooer
before her, the poesy-raving, blushing, sentimental Lyle. Great pain
came over her. She had never dreamed of one trial--that of being loved
by another as hopelessly as she herself loved.

"You do not answer, Miss Rothesay? What does your silence mean? That I
have presumed too much! You think me a boy; a foolish, romantic boy; but
I can love you, for all that, with my whole heart and soul."

"Oh, Lyle, why talk to me in this way? You do not know how deeply it
grieves me."

"It grieves you--you do not love me, then? Well," he added, sighing, "I
could hardly expect it at once; but you will grant me time, you will let
me try to prove myself worthy of you--you will give me hope?"

Olive shook her head mournfully. "Lyle, dear Lyle, forget all this.
It is a mere dream; it will pass, I know it will. You will choose some
young girl who is suited for you, and to whom you will make a good and
happy husband."

Lyle turned very pale. "That means to say that you think me unworthy to
be yours."

"No--no--I did not say you were unworthy; you are dear to me, you always
were, though not in _that_ way. It goes to my very heart to inflict even
a momentary pain; but I cannot, cannot marry you!"

Much agitated, Olive hid her face. Lyle moved away to the other end of
the room. Perhaps, with manhood's love was also dawning manhood's pride.

"There must be some reason for this," he said at last. "If I am dear to
you, though ever so little, a stronger love for me might come in time.
Will it be so?"

"No, never!"

"Are you quite sure?"

"Quite sure."

"Perhaps I am too late," he continued, bitterly. "You may already love
some one else. Tell me, I have a right to know."

She blushed crimson, and then arose, not without dignity. "I think,
Lyle, you go too far; we will cease this conversation."