"I have neither said that, nor thought it, Clary."
"That is what you mean. He did say that he loved me."
"And you,—you did not answer him?"
"No;—I said nothing. I can't explain it, and I don't want to explain it. I did not say a word to him. You came; and then he went away. If I am to be unhappy, I can't help it. He did say that he loved me, and I do love him."
"Will you tell papa?"
"No;—I will not. It would be out of the question. He would go to Ralph, and there would be a row, and I would not have it for worlds." Then she tried to smile. "Other girls are unhappy, and I don't see why I'm to be better off than the rest. I know I am a fool. You'll never be unhappy, because you are not a fool. But, Patience, I have told you everything, and if you are not true to me I will never forgive you." Patience promised that she would be true; and then they embraced and were friends.
CHAPTER VIII.
RALPH NEWTON'S TROUBLES.
July had come, the second week in July, and Ralph Newton had not as yet given any reply to that very definite proposition which had been made to him after the little dinner by Mr. Neefit. Now the proposition was one which certainly required an answer;—and all the effect which it had hitherto had upon our friend was to induce him not to include Conduit Street in any of his daily walks. It has already been said that before the offer was made to him, when he believed that Polly's fortune would be more than Mr. Neefit had been able to promise, he had determined that nothing should induce him to marry the daughter of a breeches-maker; and therefore the answer might have been easy. Nevertheless he made no answer, but kept out of Conduit Street, and allowed the three pair of breeches to be sent home to him without trying them on. This was very wrong; for Mr. Neefit, though perhaps indelicate, had at least been generous and trusting;—and a definite answer should have been given before the middle of July.