forgive my tardiness!'

Her surprise was increased, but she was not agitated. She seemed to
become gloomy, disapproving. 'I could not entertain such an idea at
this time of life,' she said after a moment or two. 'It would
complicate matters too greatly. I have a very fair income, and
require no help of any sort. I have no wish to marry . . . What
could have induced you to come on such an errand now? It seems quite
extraordinary, if I may say so!'

'It must--I daresay it does,' Millborne replied vaguely; 'and I must
tell you that impulse--I mean in the sense of passion--has little to
do with it. I wish to marry you, Leonora; I much desire to marry
you. But it is an affair of conscience, a case of fulfilment. I
promised you, and it was dishonourable of me to go away. I want to
remove that sense of dishonour before I die. No doubt we might get
to love each other as warmly as we did in old times?'

She dubiously shook her head. 'I appreciate your motives, Mr.
Millborne; but you must consider my position; and you will see that,
short of the personal wish to marry, which I don't feel, there is no
reason why I should change my state, even though by so doing I should
ease your conscience. My position in this town is a respected one; I
have built it up by my own hard labours, and, in short, I don't wish
to alter it. My daughter, too, is just on the verge of an engagement
to be married, to a young man who will make her an excellent husband.
It will be in every way a desirable match for her. He is downstairs
now.'

'Does she know--anything about me?'