"I know that it would be a mistake—a mistake in every way," she said, earnestly. "And I have made so many mistakes already that I cannot add another to the list. Believe me, if you succeeded in persuading me to marry you, it would be a mistake which we would both regret to the end of our lives. For we do not suit each other at all. When you marry you ought to select a woman different altogether from what I am: a woman gentler, yet with more moral strength."
"That may be," he answered, in a meditative tone; "but, then, no other woman can be the one to whom my father has left his fortune, who has generously given it back to me, and with whom I should like to share it."
"That is a feeling which I can understand, and which does you credit," she said. "But do you not see that I could hardly accept your suit on such a ground as that? It would have been better to have kept your fortune than to do that. No, Mr. Singleton: I beg you to think no more of this; I beg you not to follow me with any such thought in your mind. Promise me that you will not."
She leaned toward him in her earnestness, and held out her hand with a gesture of entreaty. George Singleton had something chivalrous in his nature, under all his brusque exterior; and taking the little hand he raised it to his lips.
"The confidence that you have placed in me," he said, "makes it impossible that I can do anything to annoy you. Your request is a command. I shall not follow you."
Her eyes thanked him. "Now I can go in peace, because I shall not have to think that I am misleading any one. However hard or lonely my path in life may be, I want henceforth to keep my conscience clear. I have tasted the bitterness of self-reproach, and I know what it is. Yes, you will stay. You have duties here now, and—and I hope it will not be long before you will find happiness."
He had no opportunity to reply, if he had been inclined to do so. Helen, remembering Marion's urgent request that the minutes allowed for her "few words" might be short, was heard approaching. Her clear, sweet voice gave some orders in the hall, and then she entered the room.
"I grieve to say, Marion, that it is almost time for you to go," she announced. "Ah, how sad parting is!"
Half an hour later, when Marion was borne away from Scarborough, her last backward glance showed her Helen and Singleton standing side by side on the station platform, waving her an adieu; and if she smiled at the sight, it cannot be denied that she also sighed. With her own hand she had closed the door of a possibly brilliant destiny; and, naturally enough, it had never looked so bright as when she said to herself, "That is over finally and forever."