garding him
with a perplexed and somewhat disappointed look, as if she were not
quite certain whether he was telling the truth. She did not know how
to account for his presence there, and in some vague way it frightened
her. It was plain, at any rate, that she placed no sort of reliance in
her guardian's somewhat far-fetched explanation.

Seeing that she was likely to be _de trop_, that lady made an excuse
and left the room. After she had gone, and the door had closed behind
her, things passed from bad to worse with the couple she had left
behind. Browne knew exactly what he wanted to say, but he did not know
how to say it. Katherine said nothing at all; she was waiting for him
to make the first move.

At last Browne could bear the silence no longer. Advancing towards the
girl, he managed to obtain possession of her hands before she became
aware of his intention.

Holding them in his, he looked into her face and spoke.

"Katherine," he said, in a voice that trembled with emotion, "cannot
you guess why I am here?"

"I understood that you came to see Madame Bernstein," she faltered, not
daring to look up into his face.

"You know as well as I do that, while I made that the excuse, it was
not my real reason," he answered. "Katherine, I came to see you
because I have something to say to you, which must be said at once,
which cannot be delayed any longer. I would have spoken to you in
London, had you vouchsafed me an opportunity, but you left so suddenly
that I never had the chance of opening my lips. What I want to tell
you, Katherine, is, that I love you with my whole heart and soul; God
knows I love you better than my life, and I shall love you to the day
of my death."

She uttered a little cry, and endeavoured to withdraw her hands from
his grasp, but he would not let them go.

"Surely you must have known all this long since," he continued with
relentless persistence. "You believe, don't you, that I mean what I
say?"

"I must not hear you," she answered. "I cannot bear it. You do not
know what you are saying."

"I know all I want to know," said Browne; "and I think, Katherine, you
on your part know how deeply in earnest I am. Try to remember, before
you speak, that the whole happiness of my life is at stake."

"That is exactly why I say that I cannot listen to you," she answered,
still looking away.

"Is my love so distasteful to you, then, that you cannot bear to hear
me speak of it?" he sa