"In this. Of course, when I first saw you I formed my ideal of you. What it was, I think you know to some small extent, for the love I feel and express for you is no idle sentiment. Whatever else I may be, I am at least as true as steel to you. It is one virtue I may fairly claim, for nothing which is inspired by you can be anything else. Well, knowing you but slightly, my ideal was formed, and familiar association would either destroy or establish it. My dear, I have questioned myself, I have asked: 'Does Nansie come up to your ideal? Is she the true woman you supposed her to be? Does she represent what you believed--the sweetness, the purity, the nobility, the tenderness which have sanctified the very name of woman?' The answer is: 'She is all, and more than all, you believed her to be. There is nothing in her that is not sweet, and true, and good. The ideal you set up falls short of the reality.' Then, on the other hand, is the question of Me. I do not wish to disturb you, my dear, but I fear a terrible disappointment awaits you when you have found me out. No, I will not allow you to answer me. You may stand up in my defence when I am not present, but my imperfections are too apparent--now that I am brought face to face with them--to encourage any attempt to smooth them away. However, we are bound to each other for better or worse, and you must make the best of me. Now address your letter to your uncle, and I will post it for you."
"Shall I give him your love, Kingsley?" asked Nansie, adding hurriedly, "you are very unjust to yourself."
"Yes, dear, give him my love, and say that I hope to make his acquaintance one day. As to being unjust to myself, I know I am the best judge of that."
He went from the room, and in a few minutes presented himself again, gloved and polished, a faithful presentment of a young English gentleman.
"You must wish me luck, Nansie," he said. "I am going to see what can be done in the way of obtaining a situation. Perhaps something fortunate will turn up."
She kissed him and watched him from the street door walking along the street, looking brightly this way and that for something to turn up. He returned at six o'clock in the evening, in time for dinner. There was a jaded expression on his face, which vanished the moment his eyes rested on Nansie.
"Home, sweet home," he said, passing his arm round her waist, and drinking in her beauty with a grateful spirit.
She knew that he had not been successful in his quest, but nevertheless she asked what fortune he had met with.
"None at all," he replied; "but Rome wasn't built in a day. We must have patience. I will tell you after dinner what I have done."
They had the pleasantest of meals, enlivened by his gayety; and when the things were cleared away and he had lit his cigar, he said: