loved her at first sight.

His introductions had led him into contact with Cytherea and her parents
two or three times on the first week of his arrival in London, and
accident and a lover's contrivance brought them together as frequently
the week following. The parents liked young Graye, and having few
friends (for their equals in blood were their superiors in position), he
was received on very generous terms. His passion for Cytherea grew not
only strong, but ineffably exalted: she, without positively encouraging
him, tacitly assented to his schemes for being near her. Her father and
mother seemed to have lost all confidence in nobility of birth, without
money to give effect to its presence, and looked upon the budding
consequence of the young people's reciprocal glances with placidity, if
not actual favour.

Graye's whole impassioned dream terminated in a sad and unaccountable
episode. After passing through three weeks of sweet experience, he had
arrived at the last stage--a kind of moral Gaza--before plunging into an
emotional desert. The second week in January had come round, and it was
necessary for the young architect to leave town.

Throughout his acquaintanceship with the lady of his heart there had
been this marked peculiarity in her love: she had delighted in his
presence as a sweetheart should do, yet from first to last she had
repressed all recognition of the true nature of the thread which
drew them together, blinding herself to its meaning and only natural
tendency, and appearing to dread his announcement of them. The present
seemed enough for her without cumulative hope: usually, even if love is
in itself an end, it must be regarded as a beginning to be enjoyed.

In spite of evasions as an obstacle, and in consequence of them as a
spur, he would put the matter off no longer. It was evening. He took
her into a little conservatory on the landing, and there among the
evergreens, by the light of a few tiny lamps, infinitely enhancing the
freshness and beauty of the leaves, he made the declaration of a love as
fresh and beautiful as they.

'My love--my darling, be my wife!'

She seemed like one just awakened. 'Ah--we must part now!' she faltered,
in a voice of anguish. 'I will write to you.' She loosened her hand and
rushed away.

In a wild fever Graye went home and watched for the next morning. Who
shall express his misery and wonder when a note containing these words
was put into his hand?

'Good-