he was fain to admit it to be an eminently proper demand for
enlightenment.

He said deliberately, "I possess an income of five hundred a year,
extraneous, and in addition to my pay as major in Her Majesty's
service."

Then he paused, and the silence was like a growing chasm between them.

She broke it by saying, "Have you any expectations?"

This was crueller still, though no longer astonishing. He complained in
his heart merely that her voice had become so unpleasant.

With emotionless precision, he replied, "At my mother's death--"

She interposed a soft exclamation.

"At my mother's death there will come to me by reversion, five or six
thousand pounds. When my father dies, he may possibly bequeath his
property to me. On that I cannot count."

Veritable tears were in her eyes. Was she affecting to weep
sympathetically in view of these remote contingencies?

"You will not pretend that you know me now, Percy," she said, trying to
smile; and she had recovered the natural feminine key of her voice.
"I am mercenary, you see; not a mercenary friend. So, keep me as a
friend--say you will be my friend."

"Nay, you had a right to know," he protested.

"It was disgraceful--horrible; but it was necessary for me to know."

"And now that you do know?"

"Now that I know, I have only to say--be as merciful in your idea of me
as you can."

She dropped her hand in his, and it was with a thrill of dismay that he
felt the rush of passion reanimating his frozen veins.

"Be mercenary, but be mine! I will give you something better to live
for than this absurd life of fashion. You reckon on what our expenditure
will be by that standard. It's comparative poverty; but--but you can
have some luxuries. You can have a carriage, a horse to ride. Active
service may come: I may rise. Give yourself to me, and you must love me,
and regret nothing."

"Nothing! I should regret nothing. I don't want carriages, or horses, or
luxuries. I could live with you on a subaltern's pay. I can't marry you,
Percy, and for the very reason which would make me wish to marry you."

"Charade?" said he; and the contempt of the utterance brought her head
close under his.

"Dearest friend, you have not to learn how to punish me."

The little reproach, added to the wound to his pride, required a healing
medicament; she put her lips to his fingers.

Assuredly the comedy would not have ended there, but it was stopped
by an intrusion of the squire, fo