pecially what might be said by his friends. "I do
not know that I have done anything amiss of which I need tell you,"
she said with quiet dignity. "It is rather that which I intend to do.
I fear, Sir Francis, that you and I have made a mistake in this."

"What mistake?" he shouted. "While you beat about the bush I shall
never understand you."

"In our proposed marriage."

"What?"

"I fear that I should not make you happy."

"What on earth do you mean?" Then he paused a moment before he
continued, which he did as though he had discovered suddenly the
whole secret. "You have got another lover."

There was something in the idea so shocking to Cecilia, so
revolting,--so vulgar in the mode of expression, that the feeling
at once gave her the strength necessary to go on with her task. She
would not condescend to answer the accusation, but at once told her
story in plain language. "I think, Sir Francis Geraldine, that you do
not feel for me the regard that would make me happy as your wife. Do
not interrupt me just at present," she said, stopping him, as some
exclamation was escaping from his lips. "Hear me to the end, and, if
you have ought to say, I will then hear you. Of my own regard for you
I will say nothing. But I think that I have been mistaken as to your
nature. In fact, I feel sure that we are neither of us that which the
other supposed. It is lamentable that we should have fallen into such
an error, but it is well that even yet we can escape from it before
it is too late. As my mind is altogether made up, I can only ask your
pardon for what I have done to you, expressing myself sure at the
same time that I am now best consulting your future happiness."

During this last speech of Cecilia's, Sir Francis had sat down,
while she still stood in her old place. He had seated himself on the
sofa, assuming as it were a look of profound ease, and arranging the
nails of one hand with the fingers of the other, as though he were
completely indifferent to the words spoken to him. "Have you done
yet?" he said as soon as she was silent.

"Yes, I have done."

"And you are sure that if I begin you will not interrupt me till I
have done?"

"I think not,--if there be ought that you have to say."

"Well, considering that ten minutes since I was engaged to make you
Lady Geraldine, and that I am now supposed to be absolved from any
such necessity, I presume you will think it expedient that I should
say something. I suppose