“I cannot consent that it shall be so,” said she, with energy. “It is true I am my own mistress, and there is but the greater reason why I should be more cautious. We are almost strangers to each other. All the flattery of your professions—and of course, I feel it as flattery—does not blind me to the fact that I scarcely know you at all.”
“Why not consent to know me more?” asked he, almost imploringly.
“I agree, if no pledge is to accompany my consent.”
“Is not this a somewhat hard condition?” said he, with a voice of passionate meaning. “You bid me, in one word, place all that I have of hope on the issue,—not even on that, but simply for leave to play the game. Is this generous, Alice,—is it even just?”
“You bewilder me with all these subtleties, and I might ask if this were either just or generous; but at least, I will be frank. I like you very well. I think it not at all impossible that I might like you better; but even after that, Mr. Mainland, there would be a long stage to travel to that degree of regard which you profess to desire from me. Do I make myself understood?”
“Too well for me and my hopes!” said he, despondingly. “You are able, however, to impose hard conditions.”
“I impose none, sir. Do not mistake me.”
“You leave none others open to me, at least, and I accept them. To give me even that faint chance of success, however, I must leave this to-day. Is it not better I should?”
“I really cannot advise,” said she, with a well-assumed coldness.
“Even contingently, Mrs. Trafford will not involve herself in my fortunes,” said he, half haughtily. “Well, my journey to Ireland, amongst other benefits, has taught me a lesson that all my wanderings never imparted. I have at last learned something of humility. Good-bye.”