"Oh!" I say; and his last speech having made me aware that the word "sweetheart" has been the cause of all the ill temper, I go on wickedly, "why, none indeed; and this particular one of whom I speak was such a darling! So good to me, too, as he was—I never received an unkind word or a cross look from him. Ah! I shall never forget him."
"You are right there. No virtue is as admirable as sincerity. I wonder how you could bring yourself to resign so desirable a lover."
"I didn't resign him. Circumstances over which we had no control arose, and separated his lot from mine." Here I sigh heavily, and cast my eyes upon the ground with such despairing languor as would have done credit to an Amanda—or a Dora.
"If I am to be considered one of the 'circumstances' in this matter," says my lover, hotly, "I may tell you at once I do not at all envy the position. I have no desire to come between you and your affections."
"You do not," I return, mildly; and, but that when a man is jealous he loses all reasoning and perceptive faculties, he might see that I am crimson with suppressed laughter. "Had you never appeared on the scene, still a marriage between us would have been impossible."
"What is his name?" asks 'Duke, abruptly.
"I would rather not tell you."
"I insist upon knowing. I think I have every right to ask."
"Oh, why? If I promised him to keep the matter secret, surely you would not ask me to break my faith?"
"Once engaged to me, I object to your keeping faith with any other man."