hard, after
refusing you that day on the balcony over the Park, I had no hope left.
You may thank your own nobility and courage that you remained in London
after that. Richard," she said, "do you recall my asking you in the
coach, on the way from Castle Yard, for the exact day you met my father
in Arlington Street?"

"Yes," I replied, in some excitement, "yes." For I was at last to come
at the bottom of this affair.

"The duke had made a formal offer for me when first we came to London.
I think my father wrote of that to Dr. Courtenay." (I smiled at the
recollection, now.) "Then his Grace persisted in following me
everywhere, and vowed publicly that he would marry me. I ordered him
from our house, since my father would not. At last one afternoon he came
back to dine with us, insolent to excess. I left the table. He sat with
my father two hours or more, drinking and singing, and giving orders to
the servants. I shut my door, that I might not hear. After a while my
mother came up to me, crying, saying that Mr. Manners would be branded
with dishonour and I did not consent to marry his Grace,--a most terrible
dishonour, of which she could not speak. That the duke had given my
father a month to win my consent. And that month was up, Richard, the
very afternoon you appeared with Mr. Dix in Arlington Street."

"And you agreed to marry him, Dolly?" I asked breathlessly.

"By the grace of Heaven, I did not," she answered quickly. "The utmost
that I would consent to was a two months' respite, promising to give my
hand to no one in that interval. And so I was forced to refuse you,
Richard. You must have seen even then that I loved you, dear, though
I was so cruel when you spoke of saving me from his Grace. I could not
bear to think that you knew of any stain upon our family. I think--I
think I would rather have died, or have married him. That day I threw
Chartersea's presents out of the window, but my father made the servants
gather them all which escaped breaking, and put them in the drawing-room.
Then I fell ill."

She was silent, I clinging to her, and shuddering to think how near I had
been to losing her.

"It was Jack who came to cheer me," I said presently.

"His faith in you was never shaken, sweetheart. But I went to Newmarket
and Ampthill, and behaved like the ingrate I was. I richly deserved the
scolding he had for me when I got back to town, which sent me running to
Arlington Street. There I met Dr. James coming