"I would not do it till you had come. I may have known what he would
say to me, but I may be much in doubt what I should say to him."

"You may say what you like." He answered her crossly, and she
heard the tone. But he was aware of it also, and felt that he was
disgracing himself. There was none of the half-hour of joy which
he had promised himself. He had struggled so hard to give her
everything, and he might, at any rate, have perfected his gift with
good humour. "You know you have my full permission," he said, with a
smile. But he was aware that this smile was not pleasant,--was not
such a smile as would make her happy. But it did not signify. When he
was gone away, utterly abolished, then she would be happy.

"I do not know that I want your permission."

"No, no; I daresay not."

"You asked me to be your wife."

"Yes; I did."

"And I accepted you. The matter was settled then."

"But you told me of him,--even at first. And you said that you would
always think of him."

"Yes; I told you what I knew to be true. But I accepted you; and I
determined to love you with all my heart,--with all my heart."

"And you knew that you would love him without any determination."

"I think that I have myself under more control. I think that in
time,--in a little time,--I would have done my duty by you
perfectly."

"As how?"

"Loving you with all my heart."

"And now?" It was a hard question to put to her, and so unnecessary!
"And now?"

"You have distrusted me somewhat. I begged you not to go to London. I
begged you not to go."

"You cannot love two men." She looked into his face, as though
imploring him to spare her. For though she did know what was
coming,--though had she asked herself, she would have said that she
knew,--yet she felt herself bound to disown Mr Gordon as her very
own while Mr Whittlestaff thus tantalised her. "No; you cannot love
two men. You would have tried to love me and have failed. You would
have tried not to love him, and have failed then also."

"Then I would not have failed. Had you remained here, and have taken
me, I should certainly not have failed then."

"I have made it easy for you, my dear;--very easy. Write your letter.
Make it as loving as you please. Write as I would have had you write
to me, could it have been possible. O, Mary! that ought to have been
my own! O, Mary! that would have made beautiful for me my future
downward steps! But it is not for such a purpose that a you