"You come to this house time and again," resumed Catharine Knollys, "as
though it were an ancient right on your part, as though you had always
been a friend of this family. And yet--"

"And so I have been," broke in her suitor. "My people were friends of
yours before we two were born. Why, then, should you advise your
servant, as you have, fairly to deny me admission at the door?"

"I have done ill enough to admit you. Had I dreamed of this last
presumption on your part I should never have seen your face again."

"'Tis not presumption," said the young man, his voice low and even,
though ringing with the feeling to which even he dared not give full
expression. "I myself might call this presumption in another, but with
myself 'tis otherwise."

"Sir," said Lady Catharine Knollys, "you speak as one not of good mind."

"Not of good mind!" broke out John Law. "Say rather of mind too good to
doubt, or dally, or temporize. Why, 'tis plain as the plan of fate! It
was in the stars that I should come to you. This face, this form, this
heart, this soul--I shall see nothing else so long as I live! Oh, I
feel myself unworthy; you have right to think me of no station. Yet some
day I shall bring to you all that wealth can buy, all that station can
mean. Catharine--dear Lady Kitty--dear Kate--"

"I like not so fast a soothsaying in any suitor of mine," replied Lady
Catharine, hotly, "and this shall go no further." Her hand restrained
him.