. We thought
you were both too young, and there were other reasons which I need
not now mention. But when I came to see how thoroughly he was in
earnest, how he put his heart into it, how the very fact that he
loved you had made a man of him; then how the fact that you would
not return his love unmanned him,--when I saw all that, I gave my
permission." Here he paused, almost as though expecting a word; but
Ayala gave an additional turn to the screw on her lips, and remained
quite silent. "Yes; we gave our permission,--I and your aunt. Of
course, our son's happiness is all in all to us; and I do believe
that you are so good that you would make him a good wife."

"But--"

"Listen till I have done, Ayala." Then there was another squeeze. "I
suppose you are what they call romantic. Romance, my dear, won't buy
bread and butter. Tom is a very good young man, and he loves you
most dearly. If you will consent to be his I will make a rich man of
him. He will then be a respectable man of business, and will become
a partner in the house. You and he can choose a place to live in
almost where you please. You can have your own establishment and your
carriage, and will be able to do a deal of good. You will make him
happy, and you will be my dear child. I have come here to tell you
that I will make you welcome into the family, and to promise that I
will do everything I can to make you happy. Now you may say what you
like; but, Ayala, think a little before you speak."

Ayala thought a little;--not as to what she should say, but as to
the words in which she might say it. She was conscious that a great
compliment was paid to her. And there was a certain pride in her
heart as she thought that this invitation into the family had come to
her after that ignominious accusation of encouragement had been made.
Augusta had snubbed her about Tom, and her aunt; but now she was
asked to come among them, and be one of them, with full observances.
She was aware of all this, and aware, also, that such treatment
required from her a gracious return. But not on that account could
she give herself to the Beast. Not on that account could she be
untrue to her image. Not on that account could she rob her bosom
of that idea of love which was seated there. Not on that account
could she look upon the marriage proposed to her with aught but a
shuddering abhorrence. She sat silent for a minute or two, while her
heavy eyes were fixed upon his. Then, falling on