With the mood that was upon her, I wonder Brandon maintained his
self-restraint even for a moment. He felt that his only hope lay in
silence, so he sat beside her and said nothing. He told me long
afterwards that while sitting there in the intervals between her
speech, the oddest, wildest thoughts ran through his brain. He
wondered how he could escape. He thought of the window, and that
possibly he might break away through it, and then he thought of
feigning illness, and a hundred other absurd schemes, but they all
came to nothing, and he sat there to let events take their own course
as they seemed determined to do in spite of him.

After a short silence, Mary continued, half banteringly: "Answer me,
sir! I will have no more of this. You shall treat me at least with the
courtesy you would show a bourgeoise girl."

"Oh, that you were only a burgher's daughter."

"Yes, I know all that; but I am not. It can't be helped, and you shall
answer me."

"There is no answer, dear lady--I beg you--oh, do you not see--"

"Yes, yes; but answer my question; am I not kind--more than you
deserve?"

"Indeed, yes; a thousand times. You have always been so kind, so
gracious and so condescending to me that I can only thank you, thank
you, thank you," answered Brandon, almost shyly; not daring to lift
his eyes to hers.