of refusal would soon have been beyond her power.

"Mr. Stanbury," she said, "you have confessed yourself that it is
impossible."

"But do you love me;--do you think that it is possible that you
should ever love me?"

"You know, Mr. Stanbury, that you should not say anything further.
You know that it cannot be."

"But do you love me?"

"You are ungenerous not to take an answer without driving me to be
uncourteous."

"I do not care for courtesy. Tell me the truth. Can you ever love me?
With one word of hope I will wait, and work, and feel myself to be a
hero. I will not go till you tell me that you cannot love me."

"Then I must tell you so."

"What is it you will tell me, Nora? Speak it. Say it. If I knew that
a girl disliked me, nothing should make me press myself upon her. Am
I odious to you, Nora?"

"No; not odious,--but very, very unfair."

"I will have the truth if I be ever so unfair," he said. And by this
time probably some inkling of the truth had reached his intelligence.
There was already a tear in Nora's eye, but he did not pity her. She
owed it to him to tell him the truth, and he would have it from her
if it was to be reached. "Nora," he said, "listen to me again. All my
heart and soul are in this. It is everything to me. If you can love
me you are bound to say so. By Jove, I will believe you do unless you
swear to me that it is not so!" He was now holding her by the hand
and looking closely into her face.

"Mr. Stanbury," she said, "let me go; pray, pray let me go."

"Not till you say that you love me. Oh, Nora, I believe that you love
me. You do; yes; you do love me. Dearest, dearest Nora, would you not
say a word to make me the happiest man in the world?" And now he had
his arm round her waist.

"Let me go," she said, struggling through her tears and covering her
face with her hands. "You are very, very wicked. I will never speak
to you again. Nay, but you shall let me go!" And then she was out of
his arms and had escaped from the room before he had managed to touch
her face with his lips.

As he was thinking how he also might escape now,--might escape
and comfort himself with his triumph,--Mrs. Outhouse returned to
the chamber. She was very demure, and her manner towards him was
considerably changed since she had left the chamber. "Mr. Stanbury,"
she said, "this kind of thing mustn't go any further indeed;--at
least not in my house."

"What kind of thing, Mrs. Outhouse?"

"Well;--