ine."

"Oh, Adolphus, for mercy's sake don't say so!"

"But I do say so, Fanny. God knows, not to wound you, or for any
unworthy purpose, but because it is so. He was your lover, and you sent
him away; you cannot whistle him back as you would a dog."

Fanny made no answer to this, but walked on towards the house, anxious
to find herself alone in her own room, that she might compose her mind
and think over all that she had heard and said; nor did Lord Kilcullen
renew the conversation till he got to the house. He could not determine
what to do. Under other circumstances it might, he felt, have been wise
for him to wait till time had weakened Fanny's regret for her lost
lover; but in his case this was impracticable; if he waited anywhere it
would be in the Queen's Bench. And yet, he could not but feel that, at
present, it was hopeless for him to push his suit.

They reached the steps together, and as he opened the front door, Fanny
turned round to wish him good morning, as she was hurrying in; but he
stopped her, and said,

"One word more, Fanny, before we part. You must not refuse me; nor must
we part in this way. Step in here; I will not keep you a minute;" and
he took her into a room off the hall--"do not let us be children,
Fanny; do not let us deceive each other, or ourselves: do not let us
persist in being irrational if we ourselves see that we are so;" and he
paused for a reply.

"Well, Adolphus?" was all she said.

"If I could avoid it," continued he, "I would not hurt your feelings;
but you must see, you must know, that you cannot marry Lord
Ballindine."--Fanny, who was now sitting, bit her lips and clenched her
hands, but she said nothing; "If this is so--if you feel that so far
your fate is fixed, are you mad enough to give yourself up to a vain
and wicked passion--for wicked it will be? Will you not rather strive
to forget him who has forgotten you?"

"That is not true," interposed Fanny.

"His conduct, unfortunately, proves that it is too true," continued
Kilcullen. "He has forgotten you, and you cannot blame him that he
should do so, now that you have rejected him; but he neglected you even
before you did so. Is it wise, is it decorous, is it maidenly in you,
to indulge any longer in so vain a passion? Think of this, Fanny. As
to myself, Heaven knows with what perfect truth, with what true love,
I offered you, this morning, all that a man can offer: how ardently
I hoped for an answer different from