"Hardly possible to be worse, young man--hardly! But, just as you--
will; you leave me, and will not say why. Goodby. Why do you linger?
Shake hands, and go!"

"I cannot leave you thus; I--I--sir, the truth shall out. I am rash and
mad enough not to see Miss Trevanion without forgetting that I am poor,
and--"

"Ha!" interrupted Trevanion, softly, and growing pale, "this is a
misfortune, indeed! And I, who talked of reading characters! Truly,
truly, we would-be practical men are fools--fools! And you have made
love to my daughter!"

"Sir? Mr. Trevanion!--no--never, never so base! In your house, trusted
by you,--how could you think it? I dared, it, may be, to love,--at all
events, to feel that I could not be insensible to a temptation too
strong for me. But to say it to your heiress,--to ask love in return: I
would as soon have broken open your desk! Frankly I tell you my folly:
it is a folly, not a disgrace."

Trevanion came up to me abruptly as I leaned against the bookcase, and,
grasping my hand with a cordial kindness, said, "Pardon me! You have
behaved as your father's son should I envy him such a son! Now, listen
to me: I cannot give you my daughter--"

"Believe me, sir; I never--"

"Tut, listen! I cannot give you my daughter. I say nothing of
inequality,--all gentlemen are equal; and if not, any impertinent