. "I don't know that
a letter that was particularly natural would please her. A touch of
poetry and romance would go further than anything natural."

"Who is the lady?" asked the Colonel, who certainly was by this time
entitled to be so far inquisitive.

"She is my cousin,--Ayala Dormer."

"Who?"

"Ayala Dormer;--my cousin. She was at Rome, but I do not think you
ever saw her there."

"I have seen her since," said the Colonel.

"Have you? I didn't know."

"She was with my aunt, the Marchesa Baldoni."

"Dear me! So she was. I never put the two things together. Don't you
admire her?"

"Certainly I do. My dear fellow, I can't write this letter for you."
Then he put down the pen which he had taken up as though he had
intended to comply with his friend's request. "You may take it as
settled that I cannot write it."

"No?"

"Impossible. One man should never write such a letter for another
man. You had better give the thing in person,--that is, if you mean
to go on with the matter."

"I shall certainly go on with it," said Tom, stoutly.

"After a certain time, you know, reiterated offers do, you
know,--do,--do,--partake of the nature of persecution."

"Reiterated refusals are the sort of persecution I don't like."

"It seems to me that Ayala,--Miss Dormer. I mean,--should be
protected by a sort of feeling,--feeling of--of what I may perhaps
call her dependent position. She is peculiarly,--peculiarly
situated."

"If she married me she would be much better situated. I could give
her everything she wants."

"It isn't an affair of money, Mr. Tringle."

Tom felt, from the use of the word Mister, that he was in some way
giving offence; but felt also that there was no true cause for
offence. "When a man offers everything," he said, "and asks for
nothing, I don't think he should be said to persecute."

"After a time it becomes persecution. I am sure Ayala would feel it
so."

"My cousin can't suppose that I am ill-using her," said Tom, who
disliked the "Ayala" quite as much as he did the "Mister."

"Miss Dormer, I meant. I can have nothing further to say about it. I
can't write the letter, and I should not imagine that Ayala,--Miss
Dormer,--would be moved in the least by any present that could
possibly be made to her. I must go out now, if you don't mind, for
half-an-hour; but I shall be back in time for breakfast."

Then Tom was left alone with the necklace lying on the table before
him. He knew that so