each other;--at
least, he thought they did. The scruple might now be put away. The
feminine recusancy had done its work. For himself,--he felt that he
loved her in very truth. She was not harsh or loud,--vulgar, or given
to coarse manners, as might have been expected, and as he had been
warned by his friends that he would find her. That she was very
beautiful, all her enemies had acknowledged,--and he was quite
assured that her enemies had been right. She was the Lady Anna Lovel,
and he felt that he could make her his own without one shade of
regret to mar his triumph. Of the tailor's son,--though he had been
warned of him too,--he made no account whatever. That had been a
slander, which only endeared the girl to him the more;--a slander
against Lady Anna Lovel which had been an insult to his family. Among
all the ladies he knew, daughters of peers and high-bred commoners,
there were none,--there was not one less likely so to disgrace
herself than Lady Anna Lovel, his sweet cousin.

"Do not think me too hurried, dear, if I speak to you again so soon,
of that of which I spoke once before." He had turned himself round
upon his arm, so as to be very close to her,--so that he would look
full into her face, and, if chance favoured him, could take her hand.
He paused, as though for an answer; but she did not speak to him a
word. "It is not long yet since we first met."

"Oh, no;--not long."

"And I know not what your feelings are. But, in very truth, I can say
that I love you dearly. Had nothing else come in the way to bring us
together, I am sure that I should have loved you." She, poor child,
believed him as though he were speaking to her the sweetest gospel.
And he, too, believed himself. He was easy of heart perhaps, but not
deceitful; anxious enough for his position in the world, but not
meanly covetous. Had she been distasteful to him as a woman, he
would have refused to make himself rich by the means that had been
suggested to him. As it was, he desired her as much as her money, and
had she given herself to him then would never have remembered,--would
never have known that the match had been sordid. "Do you believe me?"
he asked.

"Oh, yes."

"And shall it be so?"

Her face had been turned away, but now she slowly moved her neck so
that she could look at him. Should she be false to all her vows, and
try whether happiness might not be gained in that way? The manner
of doing it passed through her mind in that mo