By the skilful mamnagement of Adelaide Lyster their meetings became very
frequent, and before long he had won from her a promise that she would
love him all her life, and would consent to marry him. Even at that
time, when she was most ecstatic, most carried away by the novelty and
the romance, even then, if any sensible person had spoken to her, she
would have understood more her position than she did now.

If anyone had said to her: "That man is not a hero, he is only a fortune
hunter; he is not even an honorable man, or he would not seek to decoy
you from your duty to bind you to an underhand agreement; instead of
being honorable and a hero he is dishonorable and a rogue"--she had
sense enough to have seen that. She understood enough of the laws of
honor to know when they were broken. But this side of the question
never occured to her. He was young, handsome, and an artist; he loved
her so dearly that for love of her he was almost dying. She was rich and
powerful; he had nothing but genius; he loved her so that her smile gave
him life, her frown was death. It was pleasant, too, and most romantic,
to escape from the thraldom of school to wander with him in the gray
twilight through the old orchard and the green lanes; it was pleasant to
feel in the depth of her heart a love that no one knew anything of--no
one even understood. The scenery, viewed from its romantic side, charmed
her.

They told her continually how great and noble, how generous she was, and
she delighted in hearing it.

"You value genius more than money," Allan would say to her, "and you are
right. God gives genius, men make money. You have the power of
discriminating between them."