'I certainly should not do that, Miss Bonner.'

'Formal!' she exclaimed, half to herself. 'Miss Bonner thanks you. Do
you think I wish you to stay? No friend of yours would wish it. You do
not know the selfishness--brutal!--of these people of birth, as they call
it.'

'I have met with nothing but kindness here,' said Evan.

'Then go while you can feel that,' she answered; 'for it cannot last
another hour. Here is the rose.' She broke it from the stem and handed
it to him. 'You may wear that, and they are not so likely to call you an
adventurer, and names of that sort. I am hardly considered a lady by
them.'

An adventurer! The full meaning of the phrase struck Evan's senses when
he was alone. Miss Bonner knew something of his condition, evidently.
Perhaps it was generally known, and perhaps it was thought that he had
come to win Rose for his worldly advantage! The idea was overwhelmingly
new to him. Up started self-love in arms. He would renounce her.

It is no insignificant contest when love has to crush self-love utterly.
At moments it can be done. Love has divine moments. There are times
also when Love draws part of his being from self-love, and can find no
support without it.

But how could he renounce her, when she came forth to him,--smiling,
speaking freshly and lightly, and with the colour on her cheeks which
showed that she had done her part? How could he retract a step?