. Then her every touch
and look and word was eloquent to his senses as to the precise state
of her feeling toward him, but now he was dull and insensitive to such
direct intuition. He could not longer feel, but could only argue as to
how she might be minded toward him, and this it was which caused him so
much trepidation, in spite of so many reasons why he should be confident
of the result. Argument as to another's feelings is such a wretched
substitute for the intuition of sympathy.

Finally, on the evening before the day on which he was to offer himself,
the last of his stay at the Giffords', he got into such a panic that,
determined to clinch the assurance of his safety, he asked her to play
a game of cards, and then managed that she should see him cheat two or
three times. The recollection of the cold disgust on her face as he bade
her good-evening was so reassuring that he went to bed and slept like a
child, in the implicit confidence that four horses could n't drag that
girl into an engagement with him the next day.

It was not till the latter part of the afternoon that he could catch
her alone long enough to transact his little business with her.
Anticipating, or at least apprehending his design, she took the greatest
pains to avoid meeting him, or to have her mother with her when she did.
She would have given almost anything to escape his offer. Of course she
could reject it, but fastidious persons do not like to have unpleasant
objects put on their plates, even if they have not necessarily to eat
them. But her special reason was that the scene would freshly bring up
and emphasize the whole wretched history of her former infatuation and
its miserable ending,--an experience every thought of which was full
of shame and strong desire for the cleansing of forgetfulness. He
finally cornered her in the parlor alone. As she saw him approaching
and realized that there was no escape, she turned and faced him with her
small figure drawn to its full height, compressed lips, pale face, and
eyes that plainly said, "Now have it over with as soon as possible." One
hand resting on the table was clenched over a book. The other, hanging
by her side, tightly grasped a handkerchief.

"Do you know I 've been trying to get a chance to speak with you alone
all day?" he said.

"Have you?" she replied in a perfectly inexpressive tone.

"Can't you guess what I wanted to say?"

"I 'm not good at conundrums."

"I see you will not h