Janetta shook her head. "No consideration will make any difference."
"I know that I am not attractive," said her suitor, after a moment's pause, in a somewhat bitter tone. "I have not known how to woo—how to make pretty speeches and protestations—but for all that, I should make, I believe, a very faithful and loving husband. I am almost certain that I could make you happy, Janetta—if you will let me call you so—may I not try?"
"I should not feel that I was doing right," said Janetta, simply.
It was the only answer that could have made Sir Philip pause. He was quite prepared for hesitation and reluctance of a sort; but a scruple of conscience was a thing that he respected. "Why not?" he said, in a surprised tone.
"I have two or three reasons. I don't think I can tell them to you, Sir Philip; but they are quite impossible for me to forget."
"Then I think you would be doing better to tell me," said he, gently. He pulled a chair forward, sat down close to Janetta, and quietly laid his hand upon hers. "Now, what are they—these reasons?" he asked.
Her seat was lower than his chair, and she was obliged to lift her eyes when she looked at him. His face compelled truthfulness. And Janetta was wise enough to know whom she might trust.
"If I speak frankly, will you forgive me?" she said.
"If you will speak frankly, I shall esteem it a great honor."
"Then," said Janetta, bravely, "one of my reasons is this. You are most kind, and I know that you would be always good to me. I might even, as you say, be very happy after a time, but you do not—care for me—you do not love me, and"—here she nearly broke down—"and—I think you love some one else."