e, 'I shall never marry, my lord. If it be any
consolation to you, no one shall be preferred to you.'

'Oh, but, damme, the desert air and all that!' Lord Almeric cried,
fanning himself violently with his hat. 'I--oh, you mustn't talk like
that, you know. Lord! you might be some queer old put of a dowager!' And
then, with a burst of sincere feeling, for his little heart was inflamed
by her beauty, and his manhood--or such of it as had survived the
lessons of Vauxhall, and Mr. Thomasson--rose in arms at sight of her
trouble, 'See here, child,' he said in his natural voice, 'say yes, and
I'll swear I'll be kind to you! Sink me if I am not! And, mind you,
you'll be my lady. You'll to Ranelagh and the masquerades with the best.
You shall have your box at the opera and the King's House; you shall
have your frolic in the pit when you please, and your own money for loo
and brag, and keep your own woman and have her as ugly as the bearded
lady, for what I care--I want nobody's lips but yours, sweet, if you'll
be kind. And, so help me, I'll stop at one bottle, my lady, and play as
small as a Churchwarden's club! And, Lord, I don't see why we should not
be as happy together as James and Betty!'

She shook her head; but kindly, with tears in her eyes and a trembling
lip. She was thinking of another who might have given her all this, or
as much as was to her taste; one with whom she had looked to be as happy
as any James and Betty. 'It is impossible, my lord,' she said.

'Honest Abraham?' he cried, very downcast.

'Oh, yes, yes!'

'S'help me, you are melting!'

'No, no!' she cried, 'it is not--it is not that! It is impossible, I
tell you. You don't know what you ask,' she continued, struggling with
the emotion that almost mastered her.

'But, curse me, I know what I want!' he answered gloomily. 'You may go
farther and fare worse! Lord, I swear you may. I'd be kind to you, and
it is not everybody would be that!'

She had turned from him that he might not see her face, and she did not
answer. He waited a moment, twiddling his hat; his face was overcast,
his mood hung between spite and pity. At last, 'Well, 'tisn't my fault,'
he said; and then relenting again, 'But there, I know what women
are--vapours one day, kissing the next. I'll try again, my lady. I am
not proud.'

She flung him a gesture that meant assent, dissent, dismissal, as he
pleased to interpret it. He took it to mean the first, and muttering,
'Well, well, hav