nity was not visible in his answer.

"You were quite wrong," he simply said. "I am as ignorant of women as a
monk in his cloister."

"You try to prove too much. You don't think her sympathetic!" And as
regards this last remark, Gordon Wright must be credited with a certain
ironical impulse.

Bernard stopped impatiently.

"I ask you again, what does it matter to you what I think of her?"

"It matters in this sense--that she has refused me."

"Refused you? Then it is all over, and nothing matters."

"No, it is n't over," said Gordon, with a positive head-shake. "Don't
you see it is n't over?"

Bernard smiled, laid his hand on his friend's shoulder and patted it a
little.

"Your attitude might almost pass for that of resignation."

"I 'm not resigned!" said Gordon Wright.

"Of course not. But when were you refused?"

Gordon stood a minute with his eyes fixed on the ground. Then, at last
looking up,

"Three weeks ago--a fortnight before you came. But let us walk along,"
he said, "and I will tell you all about it."

"I proposed to her three weeks ago," said Gordon, as they walked along.
"My heart was very much set upon it. I was very hard hit--I was deeply
smitten. She had been very kind to me--she had been charming--I thought
she liked me. Then I thought her mother was pleased, and would have
liked it. Mrs. Vivian, in fact, told me as much; for of course I spoke
to her first. Well, Angela does like me--or at least she did--and I see
no reason to suppose she has changed. Only she did n't like me enough.
She said the friendliest and pleasantest things to me, but she thought
that she knew me too little, and that I knew her even less. She made a
great point of that--that I had no right, as yet, to trust her. I told
her that if she would trust me, I was perfectly willing to trust her;
but she answered that this was poor reasoning. She said that I was
trustworthy and that she was not, and--in short, all sorts of nonsense.
She abused herself roundly--accused herself of no end of defects."

"What defects, for instance?"

"Oh, I have n't remembered them. She said she had a bad temper--that
she led her mother a dreadful life. Now, poor Mrs. Vivian says she is an
angel."

"Ah yes," Bernard observed; "Mrs. Vivian says that, very freely."

"Angela declared that she was jealous, ungenerous, unforgiving--all
sorts of things. I remember she said 'I am very false,' and I think she
remarked that she was cruel."

"But