and so I slackened our speed.

As for Marion, she seemed as calm as I was agitated. Her demeanor was a
singular one. She was not exactly frigid or repellent. She was rather
shy and reserved. It was rather the constraint of timidity than of
dislike. Dislike? No. Not a bit of it. Whatever her feelings might be,
she had no reason for dislike. Still she was cold--and her coldness
began gradually to affect me in spite of my exultation, and to change
my joy to a feeling of depression.

After a few miles this depression had increased sufficiently to sober
me down completely. I no longer rattled. I became grave. A feeling of
despondency came over me. My spirits sank. There seemed no sympathy
between us--no reciprocity of feeling. She had no cordiality of manner
--no word, or look, or gesture, to give encouragement.

After a time my mood changed so under the influence of Marion's
depressing manner, that I fell into long fits of very ungallant
silence--silence, too, which she never attempted to break. Amid these
fits of silence I tried to conjecture the cause of her very great
coolness, and finally came to the very decision which I had often
reached before. "Yes," I thought, "she has discovered how I love her,
and she does not care for me. She has gratitude, but she cannot feel
love. So she wishes to repel me. She didn't want to come with me, and
only came because Nora urged her. She did not like to refuse, for fear
of seeming unkind to me. At the same time, now that she is with me, she
is trying to act in such a way as will effectually quell any unpleasant
demonstrations of mine." Thoughts like these reduced me to such a state
of gloom that I found myself indulging in fits of silence that grew
longer and longer.

At last I roused myself. This sort of thing would never do. If nothing
else could influence me, I felt that I ought to obey the ordinary
instincts of a gentleman. I had invited her for a drive, and, because
she was constrained, that was no reason why I should be rude. So I
rallied my failing faculties, and endeavored now not to secure
enjoyment for myself, but rather to make the drive agreeable to my
companion.

This better mood lasted all the rest of the way, and the few miles of
feverish excitement, which were followed by the few miles of
sullenness, were finally succeeded by the ordinary cheerfulness of a
travelling companion. The change was very much for the better. My
feverish excitement had served to increas