our, you don't believe what I told you the other day.
Perhaps as a young lady I ought not to have alluded to it, but I did so
in order to set the matter at rest altogether. Of course I can't tell
when you may come. If you come quite at once I shall not be married."

"No;--not married."

"But I shall be as much engaged as is possible for a girl to be. I have
given my word, and nothing will make me false to it. I don't suppose you
will come on my account."

"Solely on your account."

"Then stay at home. I am quite in earnest. And now I must say good-bye."

She departed, and left him seated alone on the sofa. He at first told
himself that she was unfeminine. There was a hard way with her of
talking about herself which he almost pronounced to be unladylike. An
unmarried girl should, he thought, under no circumstances speak of the
gentleman to whom her affections had been given as Miss Mountjoy spoke
of Mr. Annesley. But nevertheless he would sooner possess her as his own
wife than any other girl he had ever met. Something of the real passion
of unsatisfied love made him feel chill at his heart. Who was this Harry
Annesley, for whom she professed so warm a feeling? Her mother declared
Harry Annesley to be a scapegrace, and something of the story of a
discreditable midnight street quarrel between him and the young lady's
cousin had reached his ears. He did not suppose it to be possible that
the young lady could actually get married without her mother's
co-operation, and therefore he thought that he still would go to
England. In one respect he was altogether untouched. If he could
ultimately succeed in marrying the young lady, she would not be a bit
the worse as his wife because she had been attached to Harry Annesley.
That was a kind of folly which a girl could very quickly get over when
she had not been allowed to have her own way. Therefore, upon the whole,
he thought that he would go to England.

But the parting with Anderson had also to be endured, and must
necessarily be more difficult. She owed him a debt for having abstained,
and she could not go without paying the debt by some expression of
gratitude. That she would have done so had he kept aloof was a matter of
course; but equally a matter of course was it that he would not keep
aloof. "I shall want to see you for just five minutes to-morrow morning
before you take your departure," he said, in a lugubrious voice, during
her last evening.

He had kept his prom