much as any other man about the place."

"I won't have my worsted destroyed all the same. Theodore says that
Florence is right."

"Of course he does; of course he'll say I'm wrong. I won't ask her
again--that's all."

"Oh, Harry! don't say that. You know you'll ask her. You would
to-morrow, if she were here."

"You don't know me, Cecilia, or you would not say so. When I have made
up my mind to a thing, I am generally firm about it. She said something
about two years, and I will not say a word to alter that decision. If it
be altered, it shall be altered by her."

In the meantime he punished Florence by sending her no special answer to
her letter. He wrote to her as usual; but he made no reference to his
last proposal, nor to her refusal. She had asked him to tell her that he
was not angry, but he would tell her nothing of the kind. He told her
when and where and how he would meet her, and convey her from Stratton
to Clavering; gave her some account of a play he had seen; described a
little dinner-party in Onslow Crescent; and told her a funny story about
Mr. Walliker and the office at the Adelphi. But he said no word, even in
rebuke, as to her decision about their marriage. He intended that this
should be felt to be severe, and took pleasure in the pain that he would
be giving. Florence, when she received her letter, knew that he was
sore, and understood thoroughly the working of his mind. "I will comfort
him when we are together," she said to herself. "I will make him
reasonable when I see him." It was not the way in which he expected that