well turned. She might have done as an
artist's model for a Judith, but I doubt whether any man, looking
well into her face, could think that she would do well as a wife.
"Oh, John, is it to be thus, after love such as ours?" And she
clasped her hands together, and stood before him.

"I don't know what you mean," said Eames.

"If you are engaged to marry L. D., tell me so at once. Be a man, and
speak out, sir."

"No," said Eames; "I am not engaged to marry the lady to whom you
allude."

"On your honour?"

"I won't have her spoken about. I'm not going to marry her, and
that's enough."

"Do you think that I wish to speak of her? What can L. D. be to me as
long as she is nothing to you? Oh, Johnny, why did you write me that
heartless letter?" Then she leaned upon his shoulder--or attempted to
do so.

I cannot say that Eames shook her off, seeing that he lacked the
courage to do so; but he shuffled his shoulder about so that the
support was uneasy to her, and she was driven to stand erect again.
"Why did you write that cruel letter?" she said again.

"Because I thought it best, Amelia. What's a man to do with ninety
pounds a year, you know?"

"But your mother allows you twenty."

"And what's a man to do with a hundred and ten?"

"Rising five pounds every year," said the well-informed Amelia.
"Of course we should live here, with mamma, and you would just go
on paying her as you do now. If your heart was right, Johnny, you
wouldn't think so much about money. If you loved me--as you said you
did--" Then a little sob came, and the words were stopped. The words
were stopped, but she was again upon his shoulder. What was he to
do? In truth, his only wish was to escape, and yet his arm, quite in
opposition to his own desires, found its way round her waist. In such
a combat a woman has so many points in her favour! "Oh, Johnny," she
said again, as soon as she felt the pressure of his arm. "Gracious,
what a beautiful watch you've got," and she took the trinket out of
his pocket. "Did you buy that?"

"No; it was given to me."

"John Eames, did L. D. give it you?"

"No, no, no," he shouted, stamping on the floor as he spoke.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Amelia, quelled for the moment by his
energy. "Perhaps it was your mother."

"No; it was a man. Never mind about the watch now."

"I wouldn't mind anything, Johnny, if you would tell me that you
loved me again. Perhaps I oughtn't to ask you, and it isn't becom