hat you have had many
offers of marriage, and I--I know that the man to whom you were once
engaged is dead."

He felt he was acting like a fool while he was speaking, but the words
escaped him, in spite of himself.

"But you are not going to allow that to wreck your life," he went on.
"You are young--and--and you know how beautiful you are. Besides, I love
you; love you like my own life. You are the only woman in the world to
me. I do not know the--the story of that business, but--but surely--oh,
Olive, you cannot allow such an episode--the fact that a worthless
fellow committed suicide--to close your heart to me for ever. Oh, Olive,
do have a little pity on me!"

Her first feeling as he spoke was of anger, but this was followed by
pity. She had always thought of him with kindness. In many respects he
was a fine young fellow, and was beloved in the neighbourhood; thus the
fact of his love could not be altogether unpleasant.

"Mr. Briarfield," she said, "really I am very sorry for this; but let me
say once and for all----"

"No, no, not now. Give me another three months--let me speak to you
again then. In the meanwhile think it all out again, Olive."

"It is no use, Mr. Briarfield. I am not one to alter my mind easily."

"But there is no one else, is there?"

"No."

"Then let me speak to you again in three months' time. May I?"

"But my answer will be the same as now."

"No, it will not. You will let me speak again then, won't you?"

"And you'll accept what I say then as final?"

"If you wish it. That is, if you'll promise me one thing."

"Tell me what it is."

"That if you refuse me at the end of three months, and then if you alter
your mind afterwards, you'll let me know."

"Yes, I promise that. But mind, after that you are not to speak to me,
that is, on this subject, till I tell you."

"Yes, I promise that."

Herbert Briarfield turned away from Olive as he spoke, and walked to the
end of the lawn. There could be no doubt that he was deeply in earnest.
A look of fierce determination shone from his eyes, and his hands
clenched and unclenched nervously.

"She must, she must," he said. "There is no one else, and I _will_ win
her."

He returned to her presently and, drawing a chair near hers, sat down by
her side.

"I suppose your Home of Rest is full," he said, with seeming
carelessness.

"Yes," she said: "had it been twice as large it would have been filled.
As for the golf links, they are