hances of your meeting.'

'You think it possible she will refuse?'

A blackness passing to lividness crossed his face. He fetched a big
breath.

'Then finish my history, shut up the book; I am a phantom of a man, and
everything written there is imposture! I can account for all that she
has done hitherto, but not that she should refuse to see me. Not that
she should refuse to see me now when I come armed to demand it! Refuse?
But I have done my work, done what I said I would do. I stand in my
order of battle, and she refuses? No! I stake my head on it! I have not
a clod's perception, I have not a spark of sense to distinguish me from
a flat-headed Lapp, if she refuses:--call me a mountebank who has gained
his position by clever tumbling; a lucky gamester; whatever plays blind
with chance.'

He started up in agitation. 'Lucie! I am a grinning skull without a
brain if that girl refuses! She will not.' He took his hat to leave,
adding, to seem rational to the cool understanding he addressed: 'She
will not refuse; I am bound to think so in common respect for myself; I
have done tricks to make me appear a rageing ape if she--oh! she cannot,
she will not refuse. Never! I have eyes, I have wits, I am not tottering
yet on my grave--or it's blindly, if I am. I have my clear judgement,
I am not an imbecile. It seems to me a foolish suspicion that she can
possibly refuse. Her manners are generally good; freakish, but good in
the main. Perhaps she takes a sting... but there is no sting here. It
would be bad manners to refuse; to say nothing of... she has a heart!
Well, then, good manners and right feeling forbid her to refuse. She is
an exceedingly intelligent girl, and I half fear I have helped you to
a wrong impression of her. You will really appreciate her wit; you will
indeed; believe me, you will. We pardon nonsense in a girl. Married, she
will put on the matron with becoming decency, and I am responsible for
her then; I stand surety for her then; when I have her with me I warrant
her mine and all mine, head and heels, at a whistle, like the Cossack's
horse. I fancy that at forty I am about as young as most young men.
I promise her another forty manful working years. Are you dubious of
that?'

'I nod to you from the palsied summit of ninety,' said the baroness.

Alvan gave a short laugh and stammered excuses for his naked egoism,
comparing himself to a forester who has sharpened such an appetite
in toiling to slay his ro