"That is a miserable excuse, and will not serve you. My father has been goading me towards the yoke of matrimony for years. My worthy uncle, little knowing, talked of you all lunch-time, to-day, and wished himself a young man for your sake—not that if he were—you would listen to him, I hope!"
"I am not going to listen to any one."
"Yes, you are, you are going to listen to ME. When I was a poor obscure nobody at Port Blair, you accepted me as your future husband—you know you did."
"Yes; and now that I'm a poor obscure nobody at Crowmore, you wish to return the compliment."
"Helen!" he exclaimed, in a tone of sharp reproach, "you don't believe in your heart that I set any value on my money, or my birth. I want you to take me for myself alone, as if you were a dairy-maid, and I was a blacksmith. Will you?" extending his hand.
"But if I say yes, what will become of Miss Calderwood?" she inquired, ignoring the proffered clasp.
"Miss Calderwood is nothing to me, I am nothing to her; our estates suit one another, that's all. You don't suppose that I care a straw for Miss Calderwood, or she for me?" coming as close to her as the gate would permit, and looking at her fixedly. "You know very well that I care for no one but you; don't you, Helen?"
Helen raised her eyes, and looked at him—and believed him.
"I'm afraid you have had a very rough time of it since we parted—both at Port Blair, and in London?—I hate to think of it."
"Yes. I was miserable at first, most miserable," her eyes filling. "Afterwards I got on better, and I've been very happy here."