ng, yet somehow
loosening the clasp on her hand. "You did not expect, perhaps, that I
should have spoken to-day, and yet----"

"No. It was not that," says Miss Kavanagh, slowly. "I knew you would
speak--I thought last night would have been the time, but I managed to
avoid it then, and now----"

"Well?"

"I thought it better to get it over," says she, gently. She stops as if
struck by something, and heavy tears rush to her eyes. Ah! she had told
another very much the same as that. But she had not meant it then--and
yet had been believed--and now, when she does mean it, she is not
believed. Oh! if the cases might be reversed!

Beauclerk, however, mistakes the cause of the tears.

"It--get what over?" demands he, smiling.

"This misunderstanding."

"Ah, yes--that! I am afraid,"--he leans more closely toward her,--"I
have often been afraid that you have not quite read me as I ought to be
read."

"Oh, I have read you," says she, with a little gesture of her head, half
confused, half mournful.

"But not rightly, perhaps. There have been moments when I fear you may
have misjudged me----"

"Not one," says she quickly. "Mr. Beauclerk, if I might implore you not
to say another word----"

"Only one more," pleads he, coming up smiling as usual. "Just one,
Joyce--let me say my last word; it may make all the difference in the
world between you and me now. I love you--nay, hear me!"

She has risen, and he, rising too, takes possession of both her hands.
"I have come here to-day to ask you to be my wife; you know that
already--but you do not know how I have worshiped you all these dreary
months, and how I have kept silent--for your sake."

"And for 'my sake' why do you speak now?" asks she. She has withdrawn
her hands from his. "What have you to offer me now that you had not a
year ago?"

After all, it is a great thing to be an accomplished liar. It sticks to
Beauclerk now.

"Why! Haven't you heard?" asks he, lifting astonished brows.

"I have heard nothing!"

"Not of my coming appointment? At least"--modestly--"of my chance of
it?"

"No. Nothing, nothing. And even if I had, it would make no difference. I
beg you to understand once for all, Mr. Beauclerk, that I cannot listen
to you."

"Not now, perhaps. I have been very sudden----"

"No, never, never."

"Are you telling me that you refuse me?" asks he, looking at her with a
rather strange expression in his eyes.

"I am sorry you put it that way," return